


Monthly Klance - March 2019

by rae_aaah



Series: Monthly Klance [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 16:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 26,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae_aaah/pseuds/rae_aaah
Summary: An entire month of Klance falling in love.





	1. Word from the Author

Here it is in it's entirety folks, without breaks or skips or funny formatting.

I do hope that you enjoy these entries!

Here is my writing IG if you want to keep up with me in real time (link will open in IG app if on mobile).

Thanks for your interest and on with the show!


	2. Beginning

When Allura goes, she just goes. There’s no bang, there’s no whimper; there’s no fire or ice. She’s just seen one moment, and then, within one blink and the next, she’s not. 

Lance’s heart is breaking as he stands there watching her back as she leaves, the press of her lips still a lingering warmth against his own.

There’s nothing that he says that changes her mind and he knows how stubborn she is. Headstrong and hardheaded, knowing what’s best. She always knew what was best, even at her own, personal, cost.

With their shared bond through Voltron still open, he feels this team, his friends-  _ feels her but she’s fading _ , and he feels each of their sorrow; Hunk at losing the bright star in his life, Pidge’s distress of losing a sister, Shiro’s quiet resignation of losing someone that was his equal.

Feels Keith’s simmering hurt as he loses someone that had accepted him as who he is, and under that, something that pulses more than just sorrow for Allura.

It’s sorrow for Lance.

He can’t put a finger on what it is, what it means. Can’t for the life of him right now even begin to think about someone else other than  _ her _ .

Can't think of anyone else other than the one that’s leaving to save them.

All Lance can do is watch and let her go and let his heart break.

 

*

But, where there is an end, there is also a beginning...


	3. Flowers

Lance sits under the shade of an old elm tree. The wind is strong, pushing the hem of his shirt around his waist in tight snaps. The season is starting to turn, the hot summer melting into a blessedly cool autumn. 

Today is one of the cooler days, the sun bright and just this side of warm. The tree above him is a red and auburn riot and in the evenings the branches look like they’re on fire.

Kosmo  _ He still hasn’t told me his name yet, Lance _ lies curled next to his hip with his eyes closed, lazing about in his big doggy way. There’s a rush of wind, stronger than any that’s passed this day and Kosmo _ Well, what do we call him, then?  _ perks his ears.

Lance puts his hand on his dark blue forehead and strokes the fur there, smooth and warm, and with a flash he’s being zapped from under his resting spot and dumped onto the grass not too far from Keith’s shuttle.

“Woah!” he shouts, getting his bearings. Being space-wolfed always leaves him a little disoriented.

He sees Keith lift his hand to pet at Kosmo  _ It doesn’t matter, Lance, it’s just a name  _ and he wags his tail like the good boy he is.

Keith smirks from across the way and makes his way over to him, reaches out his hand to pull Lance up. “Hey, man,” he chuckles out and Keith’s hand is an old friend coming to greet him.

“Hey, what’s going on? Everything alright with the Blades?” He asks, dusting the seat of his pants off.

“Hmm?” He hums in his mouth as he looks around. “Oh, yeah, we’re good,” and he rocks on his feet, stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Ezor and Zethrid are taking a break right now, with the baby and all, and Axca’s out doing whatever Axca does when she’s not with us,” he says with an amused huff. “And it’s a little lonely without them,” he admits quietly.

Lance grins, slings an arm around Keith. “Aww, poor bwaby Keef can’t be awone?” Lance teases, pulls Keith to his side.

Age has done him well, filled him out, made him as tall as Lance (and not tall _ er _ , mind you). Not so scrawny. He still has that god ugly mullet, but he's at least pulled it back into some sort of stylish ponytail and in certain lighting it even looks good. Sometimes.

( _ Certain _ lighting… not  _ all _ lighting and Lance huffs through his nose at his internal thought just to prove a point.)

Through his shirt Lance can feel the solid bearing of Keith’s body, the coiled strength there, ready to let loose if need be. Even after all this time. Even after they’ve ended the ten thousand year war.

“It's okay, little bwaby, good old Lancey Lance can keep you company,” he tells him.

Keith laughs and it rings around the yard in waves.

Keith does that more now: laughs.

The sound comes straight from his belly and carries up through his chest, full hearted and right. Lance always loves making people laugh, loves to make them feel good. And Keith isn’t the surly teenager he'd first met and Lance isn’t the fool he once was either.

They’ve been through a lot together, carefully building their friendship on trust and respect.

The breeze picks up, scattering whatever is left of the juniberry petals around them in a swirl of magenta, fragrant and sweet and Lance thinks of Allura.

“She would have loved this place,” Keith tells him, his voice pitched low, like it’s done every other time he’s told Lance this exact same thing.

The wind blows again, this time bringing with it a full flower, snapped at the stem, and it clings to Keith’s chest with the breeze still gusting around them. He catches it as the wind dies down, looks fondly at it as he cradles the bloom in his hand. “You did good, Lance,” he says, “More than any of us, you did good.”

Lance’s heart flops in his chest.

Stops and then pounds double time to catch up.

And oh.

Lance takes the flower from Keith’s hand, looks at its petals and markings- hears her voice, gently quietly mischievously giggle, echo, then, gone- like the wind-

He lifts his eyes and finds Keith looking at him and  _ oh _ .

_ Alright. _


	4. Desert

Keith loves the desert. He loves the dry air and how he can smell rain coming from miles away. Loves how his skin tingles and draws tight when there’s an incoming thunderstorm. His little ramshackle house he holed up in as he looked for Blue did him well.

Keith opens the door in to that little space now, the hinges squeaking quietly as he pushes the door to. It was a security measure for whoever that came looking for him, but no one ever did. It became comforting, though, to hear that sound. It was the sound of him coming home.

He doesn’t think of this place as home anymore.

“Dude, why are we even here?” Lance grumbles as he sets down a duffel bag and rolled up sleeping mattress.

“You said you’d hang out with me,” Keith counters, pulling the sheets off the furniture and carefully bundling them up, trying his best to keep the collected dust from scattering.

“Yeah, but the desert, man? I can feel my skin shriveling up already,” Lance whines as he presses his hands to his face.

“You look fine,” Keith says and watches as Lance pauses. He’s been doing that a lot more recently. Going quiet, clamming up. His eyes a little bit more heavy when he does. Keith tips his head in his direction and his hair falls over and sticks to his forehead, the sweat making the strands clump. “Lance?”

“Nah, man,” he says, shaking his head, “I must look like a prune,” he groans as he turns and walks back out the door. “You gonna get that generator running? The food’ll only last so long in this cooler,” he says from outside.

As Keith walks back out to get the fuel, he watches as Lance pulls the cooler out from the bed of the truck, the muscles in his forearm and biceps tensing and bunching as he takes the weight.

Keith doesn’t _stare-_ that’d be gauche.

But he does look. Just a little.

Maybe a little more.

Keith slides the jerrycans out of the bed and takes them over to the side of the house. He fills the tank to the generator with diesel, puts his foot to the frame and pulls the cord to start the engine. It takes a few times to get it going but when it does, it sputters to life, shakes a little with vibrations and putters along.

He hears Lance as he whistles.

Keith looks up startled. “What?”

“Nah, man,” is all he says and he turns and walks away.

His space-time continuum dog, who he secretly, silently calls Kosmo, looks at him with a tilted head.

“What?” he says again, this time more panicked.

Kosmo's shoulders rise and fall like he’s huffing at Keith, his big tail swishing in the dirt, puffing up dust. He stands, walks up to stand next Keith, his head up to Keith’s shoulder. He circles around him, thrusts his wet nose under Keith’s arm and pushes at him with his big head.

“Hey!” but Kosmo is strong, nuzzling him.

 _Go to him, child_ he hears in his head and Keith sighs. Reaches up and puts a hand onto the side of his muzzle. Keith strokes down the side of his face and Kosmo leans into hit, whining a little.

Keith walks back to the truck, taking out the bags that have the dry goods and snacks. He steps up the wooden steps, the dry boards moaning under his feet and he nudges the screen door open with his boot.

He puts the groceries down on the round table in the kitchen, and looks up.

Keith feels the familiar flip of his heart in his chest as he takes in the sight of Lance’s wide back as he stands at the sink. He’s rinsing out some dishes that he found in the cupboards, his hands wet and sudsy. He has a towel thrown over his shoulder and he’s humming.

The sun is streaming in from the windows on the north side of the house and it brightens Lance’s skin to a deep, rusty bronze.

Keith hasn’t been back to this place in a long time, doesn’t think of it as home, not anymore.

But with Lance standing there, he feels an old, overpowering wave of longing hit him right in the chest; the feeling of loneliness, of wanting someone to be here with him on days when the desert was too loud with its silence.

He feels it all again.

But with Lance standing there, looking like everything Keith wanted, like everything he  _ still _ wants, the loneliness is covered over, tucked away like a child in the night by a comforting hand.

Keith loves the desert.

Loves the heat and barren beauty of it. How he could see the fire he built in the yard from over a mile away on a windless night, far from his shelter, but always in sight.

He doesn’t think of this place as home, not anymore.

But with Lance being here, it feels like one again.


	5. Crush

Lance had a crush on Keith once before, a long time ago. Even back before Voltron. Even back from hurtling through space in Blue. It was when they entered the Garrison as kids. So, yeah. A long time ago. 

He remembers standing in a line, listening to Iverson natter on, and then smartass James needed to make a smartass comment and Keith laid him out.

And oh, hello to Lance’s bi-wakening.  

But Keith was too lone-wolf to try and get too close, and he was kind of a prick. But, looking back, with all the stuff that was going on with him, it was understandable. It wasn’t an excuse for his attitude, but, now that he’s grown, it was understandable.

Then, there was his whirlwind romance with Allura, and Keith became a trusted friend, his leader, someone he could follow because he respected Keith’s decisions. He loves Keith like he does Pidge and Hunk and Shiro.

But.

He looks at Keith outside, setting up an area in the fenced-in yard. He’s leaning logs together in the fire pit in a cone, setting the kindling underneath. Placing rocks around the circle to keep the sides from falling in.

Lance watches as Keith gets on his knees in the dirt, how he strikes the flint and angles it towards the small twigs, and lets the sparks fly. Keith leans over and breathes life into the fire.

It illuminates his face in warm flickers and dancing jumps and Lance lets the curious eddies of emotion swirl through him and run its course through his body.

They twist around inside him, probing at all the empty spots Allura left behind, comes up under them, lifts them up and bolsters them.

He’ll never forget Allura. Not for the rest of his life.

But now, this thing, this feeling- his crush. He’s letting it take hold of him again, lets it fill him up.

One more time.

Lets himself fall.

And as Lance looks at Keith out in the yard, he thinks that it’s not going to be a hard thing to do.


	6. Morning

The sun is warm on his face and it takes Keith a drowsy minute for him to realize where it’s coming from and why he’s so comfortable. He turns in the bed, the springs protesting a little, and he scoots  closer to the edge of the mattress to get away from the sagging middle. 

Keith drifts, tucks his face into the pillow and closes his eyes.

In and out, he hears the click-clacking of Kosmo’s nails on the floor, Lance’s low murmurs. The whine of the screen door opening and closing. Lance humming. The sound of the shower in the bathroom.

Keith almost falls back asleep.

There’s the strong smell of coffee, and, like any grown adult, it rouses him back from the void. He breathes in that smell, a dark roast, and lets the grogginess roll away from him.

He listens to the groan of wood as Lance’s soft footsteps travel across the stretch of the house, each step light and measured. 

They come closer, the sound suddenly muffled as he walks on the air mattress covered in sheets below Keith’s bed.

The smell of Lance’s body wash, spices and vanilla, as he leans over Keith.

He’s expecting a shake to his shoulder but instead Keith gets fingers in his hair.

“Time to get up, Samurai.”

Keith forces his breathing even, tries not to give away that his heart his pounding through his chest, hopes that Lance can’t hear it.

His skin turns hot at where the pads of Lance’s fingers touch on his scalp, flushes all the way down his neck and back. He opens his eyes as his hand slides through gently to push back his bangs, as Lance pulls away.

Lifts them to look at Lance’s smiling face.

The morning sun cuts through the clear glass window, turning Lance’s eyes a crystal-cut blue and Keith is drowning in it, letting it pull him under like the tide.


	7. Sunset

“Keith, man, slow down,” Lance huffs from behind him. “I like a good, robust exercise that works the muscles, but this,” he quips as he breathes hard through his mouth.

“It’ll be worth it,” Keith tells him, already hiked up on a ledge. He glances up,  _ just in time _ , he thinks. He watches as Lance huffs and puffs his way up the side of the cliff face, an easy, jagged incline with short leg-ups and handholds, but at the way Lance is going at it, he’s acting like they're climbing Everest.

Keith smirks and shakes his head as he watches Lance and he catches his eye just as he looks up. Lance grimaces, giving him a murderous glare. “Look, not all of us are still active in the field,” he complains, and wheezes as he steps up to the rock right below Keith.

Keith chuckles and gets to one knee and holds his hand out. Lance takes it with a groan.

Lance's palm is hot and dry, the skin soft at the palm and his fingers grip hard and sure. Keith sees the muscles in his arm engage as he flexes and pulls himself up and Keith thinks that Lance isn’t as out of shape as he claims to be.

“Oh,” Lance breathes as he straightens.

“Yeah,” he replies looking out at the valley. It’s flat for miles until the land gives way to small hills. There’s no wind but the air shimmers in the late afternoon heat. And the sun, blazing orange and unhindered by clouds in front of them as it gets closer to setting.

“Wow,” Lance lets out on an exhale. “You- this place?”

“Yeah,” Keith says again and he belatedly still feels their hands clasping. He loosens his fingers but probably due to distracted awe, Lance is still holding his hand. Keith readjusts his grip, squeezes their palms back together lightly. Looks back out at the vastness of the desert.

His little house is half a mile away, a dark shape against the khaki colored dirt. If he looks hard enough, he can see Kosmo lounging on the porch.

“My dad used to bring me up here when the wind didn’t blow so hard,” he tells Lance, a small part of his past.

Lance glances at him, standing there on the ledge with Keith.

“The grit would get everywhere otherwise,” he says and maybe it’s from being in a spot that only he and his father knew about, or maybe because sunsets make people sentimental.

It could just be because he’s here with Lance, the one person that he always keeps coming back to. But whatever the reason, Keith talks. Lets it out.

Shares the bits of his childhood that he can remember with Lance.

At some point they sit down, legs kicking over the ledge like little kids and Keith keeps talking. About how cold the nights get here, about the lizards that stay so perfectly still on the hot, flat rocks.

About the talkative, prairie dogs that whistled and barked at each other. And, once, a leathery tortoise that came ambling by the house fence and Keith fed it some cabbage until it amabled away.

He tells Lance how his dad taught him how to fish at the small creek, up to the ankles in cool water, taught him how to gut their dinner. There was a lesson in trapping small animals and how to skin them of their pelts to keep warm.  _ Never let anything go to waste, Keith. And thank them, always, for what they gave you _ , he told him, once, long ago, seemingly almost a lifetime past now, and Keith keeps that mantra close to his heart.

Keith is startled to realize after he tapers off his stories that they’re lying down, backs to the warm stone that retains the day’s heat. His eyes are following the familiar figure of Orion, his belt three glowing stars, and Betelgeuse on his shoulder. It’s not dark just yet, but it’s getting there quickly.

“We should head back,” Keith tells Lance. “It’ll be hard getting down without the light,” and sits up, startled again, to find that their hands are still clasped.

Lance squeezes at his hand, lets go to use his arms to sit up and joins Keith in his new position, bumps their shoulders together.

It feels different from all the other times Lance has done this; different as he sways languidly into Keith, as he lingers against his shoulder and then pulls back.

Different in how it feels intimate with Lance’s lingering nearness.

It’s paired with the memory of that caress through his hair this morning and Keith suddenly feels shy. He ducks his head and looks at his lap and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lance’s hand, close enough that all Keith has to do is spread his fingers and he’ll be touching skin again.

Lance has never. He’s never- he didn’t think that Lance would look at anyone ever again after Allura. He was so in love with her.

_ But he might try again with you _ , the hopeful, little boy part of him says and Keith shudders in a breath, forces his heart calm.

He glances back to Lance, sitting quietly next to him, Keith’s eyes cutting a quick to and away, finds Lance watching him, eyes heavy and contented and soft at the edges as he looks. He’s seen it before, that look, on Lance’s face, when he would think about Allura. Talk about her like she hung the stars themselves.

And now it's directed at Keith and his thoughts are going too fast for him to catch up.

Lance bumps into his shoulder again, this time leaning into him, the line of his arm a hot brand all along Keith’s. His hand inches over and cover’s Keith’s own, his palm hot and dry and smooth and Keith feels his pulse ratchet up in his veins.

Lance brushes the ridges of his knuckles with his thumb, fingers rasping over the joints as he touches him.

His long fingers curl around Keith’s wrist, encircling like a bracelet, and  _ holds  _ and surely surely Lance can feel how hard his heart is beating just through this simple contact.

His fingers slide up, over the soft skin on the inside of his forearm and Keith’s skin breaks out into raised, little bumps as the heat overpowers the cooling air around them.

“Lance?”

Lance hums in his mouth, a question. Lance slips his fingers down Keith’s arm again, a twisting spiral that follows his tensed muscles, a gentle stroke, his body curling towards him, tucking Keith’s shoulder into the hollow of his chest as he leans in.

“Lance, please,” he whispers, tilting his head closer and his heart is so loud in his ears that he can’t even think straight.

“Yeah?” and that hand is sliding up again, higher this time, spiraling around his arm and bicep as if on a wave, disconnecting for a moment to resitutate itself against the blade of his shoulder, Lance’s broad palm sweeping across his back to cup his shoulder opposite and tuck him ever closer.

“Please, what?” he huffs a chuckle through his nose and from under his lashes he sees Lance smirk and god, god Keith is melting in the face of it.

And that touch, distracting, sensual and alluring- and-

_ Allura… _

“Wait,” he chokes, not even inches away from pressing his mouth to Lance’s or Lance’s to his… but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because the line isn’t clear. It’s blurry and muddled and this whole thing is throwing Keith into confusion.

“Why,” and he swallows, his throat tight and dry. “You never said,” he complains and please, please don’t say because you’re lonely but because you-

“I like you Keith,” Lance murmurs against the side of his face, his cheek pressed to Keith’s. It feels hot and tacky and Keith knows if he pulls away, Lance’s cheeks with be a riot of splotchy pink.

“For a while, now,” he confesses. “I guess I never did say, huh?”

 


	8. Late Night

Keith sighs, conflicted, unable to pull away. “No, you didn’t,” and then, traitorously, that little boy still living inside of him says,  _ Neither did you _ .

Lance slides his nose along the crest of Keith’s cheek and if he were standing his knees would have surely buckled. He wants it, badly. Those lips against his, but he needs a moment to collect himself, reorient his view on their relationship.

“I,” Keith swallows, digs around for the words that he wants to say but none come. There’s too many.

“Hmm?” Lance hums again, this time tucking his face into the quiet place between Keith’s shoulder and neck. “Is this okay?” he asks.

Keith nods, the words still wrapped up in his throat. He lets out a shaky breath, grips at Lance’s cargo pants for balance. Lance just rests there, breathing evenly like this is all he wants to do for the rest of his life. And Keith would let him but they really-

“Not to,” he clears his throat, motions between them and then the way back down. “But we need to get back,” he reminds Lance and it really is getting almost too dangerous to climb down. It’ll be dark before long and Keith doesn’t want to die right before he finally gets what he’s been wanting for a long time.

Lance nods against him, his eyelashes brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck. “Keith?” he asks, breath hot against his throat.

Keith turns his head a little, his cheek bumping against Lance’s forehead and his gut trembles inside of him in a funny way. “Yeah?”

“Don’t run away, okay?” Lance asks, his voice timid, low- almost like it’s breaking and Keith thinks of the time he turned his back on his teammates right after he told Lance things would work themselves out.

He was so young and foolish then.

But he’s grown up a lot since.

Keith brings up a shaking hand and cups the side of Lance’s head, cards his fingers through his hair, the feeling of silk in his hand, and turns his face a little more, presses a kiss to Lance’s warm temple.

“I won’t.”

 

*

They make their way down the side of the rocky hill, and with each step closing the distance to his little house, Keith’s heart grows more heavy, more thunderous, his skin jittering in anticipation. Lance’s hand slips into his own and Keith grips it hard, not taking his eyes off the dirt. 

The sun is well below the hills but still casts a low light across the rocks. Tripping is the last thing he wants though so he keeps his eyes on the tips of his shoes.

As they approach Kosmo stands, and presses his nose to their clasped hands. His big tail swishes back and forth and sits back down on the wood, the grain creaking with his shifting body weight. Keith huffs, his face heating and he pulls Lance inside.

Lance laughs and laughs and laughs, and even the noisy, aging hinges are buried under the sound of his voice.

They cook dinner together, talking about nothing, talking about everything. Lance shares stories about baking with his  _ mamá  _ and holding the yarn for his  _ abuela  _ as she knit the children Christmas scarves.

He brushes against Keith, every chance he gets.

A hand to the small of his back, gripping around his waist. Fingers in his hair again, like this morning, but now, this time, heavy with intent, almost pulling him around to kiss him- or that’s at least what Keith is hoping for.

But Lance always stops, right before, brushes back his hair instead and continues on with his stories.

They eat under the yellowing bulb of the kitchen light, drink hot coffee after 9. Laugh and chat and learn each other.

And silently, Keith lets his hope bloom.

It’s on the third yawn that Lance chuckles, stands up and pushes back his chair. He comes around to Keith’s side of the table, tidies up the dessert plates and gone-cold coffee, puts them in the sink for the morning. He watches Lance as he comes to him, as he holds out his hand and Keith slips his fingers into his waiting palm.

Lance tugs and Keith follows.

The walk to the bedroom is short and when they pass through the door, the air charges electric, thick and just this side of suffocating and Keith looks at the two messy beds taking up the entirety of the room.

Kosmo pushes past his legs, almost knocking him over.

And Keith’s tired, drunk in his legarthy, and he leans into Lance, maybe playing it up a little more than he should, and he uses their new found open affection for each other to his advantage.

Lance huffs out a breathy, amused  _ Easy, there, Samurai, _ close and warm, close and warm, and steadies him with a wide hand to the middle of his back and a solid grip around his arm.

Keith hears the groan of the bed springs and he looks deliriously on as Kosmo clambers up onto the bed, the first time he's ever done so, and Keith feels torn between scolding him and giving him a good belly rub for making the choice for him.

“Well, that settles that, then,” Lance says and his voice is pitched low and it could be everything to do with the lateness of the hour, (three, to be exact, well past midnight) but that sound shivers through Keith, low, right into his gut.

Keith looks up, catches the glint of the moon off Lance’s eyes and it’s like flying Red for the first time all over again, free falling through space and Keith can’t stop it.

“I love you,” he breathes into the space between them. “From the start-” and he can’t even bear to look at Lance,  _ just please, let me get this out, I-  _ gripping the sleeve of Lance's shirt just to hang on.

“Volton, was-  _ you  _ are the best parts of me. My support and my strength, always there,” and his voice catches on a breath of air coming up his throat, stopping his next words, but Lance is there, suddenly, right there, tilting his face up and his eyes are so crystalline blue.

They say first kisses between two people are like fireworks, like the high drop on a roller coaster, how there's music and the utter feeling of completeness.

Keith thinks, between one breath and the next, that they got it wrong. It's none of things.

All it is, is Lance.


	9. Lions

Kissing Lance is nothing like how he imagined. He thought that Lance’s lips would be soft and gentle with him, how they look when he speaks to little kids and his parents, murmuring words of affection and care. 

They're not. They're anything but. They’re rough, ravenous, pressing against his urgently like there’s no time- but there is, there is, all of it- Lance’s teeth bite at the corner of his mouth, nipping deliciously and coming back in with apology kisses to soothe over the sting.

He thought that Lance would taste sweet like the cake they had for dessert but he doesn't. He doesn’t even taste like coffee.

Lance tastes plain, like spit, but when Keith inhales through his nose, he can smell him, so close- vanilla and the desert sun and Keith’s head spins with it. He takes that scent into his lungs, holds it there like smoke and shotguns it back into Lance’s mouth who inhales it greedily.

And Keith thought he would get weak at the knees at finally, finally, being able to get at him- but he doesn’t.

Instead he pulls at Lance, grips the back of his shirt into his fist. Surges into his warm body, pressing their chests together, their stomachs, all the way down their fronts and heat builds quickly from glowing embers into a bonfire.

Keith pulls back, gasping for air, because, yes, that’s still a thing, and breathes out a shaky breath, inhales through his mouth- his mouth. He darts his eyes to Lance’s lips, red and a little puffy and Keith’s heart pounds in his ears like a war drum.

He reaches up and touches them with trembling hand, lack of oxygen, adrenaline, joy, at the sheer closeness of their shared space- it could any one of those reasons, take your pick- and smoothes the tips of his fingers over Lance’s lips.

_ I did that, _ he thinks.

Lance puckers his mouth, kisses Keith’s fingertips.

“That was one hell of a first kiss, Samurai,” Lance rumbles between them, the pitch of his voice low, so low, and it’s firing up every nerve under Keith’s skin.

Keith nods. “I’ve wanted,” he swallows, hides his blush into Lance’s neck, realizes that he’s allowed now, and presses his mouth to where Lance’s jaw juts out, right under the ear. “For a long time, now,” nuzzles at the warm pocket of skin he finds there. “I just,” and he wraps his arms around Lance’s waist.

Lance just hums, starts rocking them to and fro and Keith’s knees finally feel weak. Lance chuckles, gently eases Keith away. “Let’s sleep,” he says, hands cradling Keith’s arms. “You look like you’re about to fall over,” with a small chuckle.

Keith blinks and before he knows it, he's lying prone on the air mattress, the smell of Lance all around him and he grunts, turns and presses his face into a pillow.

He hears Lance chuckle again, from a thousand miles away, fingers in his hair, something that he knows that he'll get used to, already his heart seeking more of that contact.

There's soft humming, a song from a distant land, lips on his cheek, against the fluttering of his lashes, to the corner of his mouth.

And then, sleep.

 

*

He dreams that night, of their lions. Of Red and Black, still connected to him, even through all of time and space, they still call to him.

He looks around and is shocked to see Lance there with him, clad in a loose shirt and his joggers. Lance is surprised to see him, too.

Behind him looms Blue, her big body crouched low, her calming center washing over him as her eyes flash yellow.

Black purrs behind him but he doesn't hear it with his ears. He feels it in his chest, her blanketing care.

And Red.

Red circling them, roaring her approval, her uninhibited joy for the two of them.

Keith feels it all.

 


	10. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spice warning

It’s right after the sun starts to rise that Lance opens his eyes. His right arm is flung out to the side, numb and trapped, and he doesn’t even have to look to get a smile spreading across his face. Keith’s heavy head is keeping him pinned. 

Lance hums in his mouth, his arm curling to play with the hair at the crown of Keith’s head, his index finger twirling around and around. Keith grunts, shuffles within the half-circle of his arm, stretches and resettles, smacking his lips a little has he does. Lance lets his hand limp as Keith moves, the tips of his fingers only lightly brushing the strands.

Lance shakes his head and maneuvers his arm from out of under Keith’s head who still does nothing, lays there like a lump, his mouth a little open now, and Lance feel his heart swell.

“I can’t believe you sleep like the dead,” he murmurs, and, true to form, Keith doesn’t stir.

Lance’s hand though gets caught under by Keith’s cheek, turning and pressing as Lance tries to slide away. He mumbles, nuzzles like a cat, resettles.

“Sly devil,” he whispers, rubs his thumb against the swell of Keith’s cheek. It’s the squishy press of fat and Lance takes a moment to press in and distort Keith’ face. He snorts hard enough to hurt his throat, but quietly. Keith’s a little greasy from the night and Lance swears he going to get him to start taking care of his skin better.

Up close, though, the only thing that mars that porcelain color is the heat scar from the clone’s arm, a story Keith told him one night after one too many beers.

He’s never really asked, and Keith never really said until that night and maybe. Maybe that was the night he really started looking.

Lance pulls again, and this time his hand comes free. He turns on the mattress, the air inside of the bed jostling Keith, making him rise and fall like they were resting on the belly of a beast. Keith groans in his sleep, his eyebrows drawing in, his lip curling a little and Lance just chuckles.

He smooths the irritation down with his thumb, pressing first to the  _ moue  _ between Keith’s eyebrows, sweeps down and traces over that perfect cupid’s bow. Keith breathes even and deep, not even the fluttering of eyelashes.

Lance brushes down his shoulder and arm, following the dips and ridges of his muscles, down over the expanse of his ribs, broad and expanding, hand cupping the slight indent of his waist.

He looks at the tempting slip of skin right below the line of his hand, and Lance is only a lowly mortal. He moves the last few inches down, his palm touching skin warm with sleep at the hollow of Keith’s back. It feels a little illicit, doing this. They really haven’t-

Lance bites his lip, the distraction too tempting and he slides his hand up the valley of Keith’s spine, feeling each count of vertebrae under his fingertips, so warm and surrounded by dense muscles. He swallows and shifts a little forwards, pulls Keith a little to him and they press, front to front and Keith’s next breath leaves him heavily on the exhale.

_ Oh? _

He slips higher, rubbing his fingers in circles between his shoulder blades, sliding back down and Keith shifts into Lance, this time his breath leaving out through his parted lips.

_ Oh _ .

He tenses his fingers and one last time,  _ scrapes _ .

Keith’s eyes snap open, his voice trembling out  _ Ahhn!  _ and his eyes zero in on Lance, his eyes wide and his cheeks two sweet roses.

“Lans-” he slurs, burying his face into Lance’s chest over his clenched fists, tucked close to him like a boxer. “Wha-”

“Come here, come here, sweetheart,” and Lance rolls, “Come here,” and pulling Keith with him, on top of him, and Lance holds Keith within the full circle of his arms.

His numb arm is finally awake and full of feeling and he lifts it to join its twin, touching all along Keith’s back, up and down his spine in long and short sweeps, rubbing at his skin, learning a part of Keith that he’s only seen in glimpses, long ago; a lifetime ago.

Keith moans, a high clean note, almost a cry, and Lance presses his mouth to Keith’s cheek, rutting with his nose, mouth searching until Keith turns and their lips slot together. Keith pulls away first on a gasp and when he looks down, his cheeks are a brighter pink.

Lance retracts his hands from under Keith’s shirt, wraps his arms around his back, holds him close. Seeks his mouth again.

Keith melts into him, his body going lax against Lance’s, thighs spread and braced around his hips. His hands come up and make their way into Lance’s hair, grips there, and Lance was never abject to some hair pulling.

He slides his hands down, down, down- well past the no fly zone and Keith just grunts, licks into his mouth, and Lance moves his hands up, presses flush to the skin and shimmies his fingers down, touching all the skin under his hands, squeezing and pulling and Keith wiggles his hips and the elastic of his sleep pants slide that much lower.

Keith pushes up with his arms, hovering over Lance, his face a blushing mess, chest heaving. His lips are swollen shiny and rosy red and Lance thinks  _ I did that. _

Lance watches as Keith’s eyes skitter down to where his own shirt is rucking up, his stomach a little cold now that Keith isn’t covering him. Keith brushes his hand there, first with his knuckles, then with his palm, sweaty but steady, skimming across his skin like a flat stone across water.

His thumb rubs over the rise of his hip bone and Lance sighs, his hands gripping tight on Keith’s hips.

Keith’s eyes jerk back up from his curious touching at the sound. He brushes the skin again and Lance has to bite his lip. Keith spreads his fingers, grips at Lance’s waist. “Wanna hear it,” he murmurs as he devours his mouth.

“Wanna hear you, Lover Boy,” and Keith makes a sinuous, vicious roll of his hips and Lance cries out and Keith eats the sound right out of the air.

“Come on,” Keith chants, starting up a push and pull rhythm with his body that has Lance’s head filling up with the pound of his heart.

“Come on,” he whispers, his bottom lip, suffering between the tight clench of his teeth, shows that the blood has been pushed all away, is white around the edges where his canines bite down.

“Come on, Lance, come on.”

Lance gives one decisive squeeze with his hold and  _ jerks  _ and Keith throws his head back, his collarbones standing out in sharp relief of his throat and Lance tells himself  _ next time, next time, put your mouth there, _ and Keith flies apart, shudders, goes immaculately still and drops like a stone onto Lance’s chest, his body heaving like he's run a marathon.

It's the small  _ ah ah ah’s _ falling from Keith’s lips like a prayer- that’s Lance’s undoing and he rocks into Keith, rubbing into the V of his thighs.

They lie there for a few minutes, sweat cooling in the morning atmosphere. Keith rolls off of Lance to his side of the mattress, the trapped air moving again in that seesaw way.

Lance looks over at Keith, his hair sticking to his forehead in clumps, his cheeks ruddy and lovely, a blush that Lance himself put there.

He’s sure be doesn't look that much different.


	11. Jackets

It's a little after midday that the wind starts picking up, forcing them inside. Keith had been in the yard and splitting a few logs of firewood for the evening (and boy was that an sight; Keith sweaty, tall and broad shouldered, lifting his arm and wiping the perspiration from his brow with his forearm, showing off the dark hair under his arm and Lance stood at the window inside the house, just staring greedily, before he got with it and brought out to him the bottle of water that he was holding).

The dust slams into the side of the house in little pebbles, bigger stones plinking off the window panes rhythmically and the wind under the eaves. It's a little chilly with the gale.

But Kosmo sleeps himself away on the rug by the hearth, so Lance isn’t too worried.

Keith is curled up on one side of the sofa, tucked into a corner. One set of his toes peek out from under a blanket as he reads. They’re curled and every so often they flex, Keith’s big toe rubbing against its neighbor for a few moments, and then they retuck themselves.

Lance plops down onto the sofa, bullying his way into Keith’s space. Keith just lifts his elbow, lets Lance rest under the curve of his arm. He pulls out his phone, dicks around a little on some game, responds to Hunk who sent him a picture of a three headed lizard when he was out in the Quzi sector.

He laughs as in the video Hunk zooms in to film one of its heads and then the camera shakes violently as Hunk gets startled as it rises up on its hind legs and dashes towards him.

Keith peers over Lance’s shoulder at that. He reloads the video and Keith watches, chuckles at the end. He could really get used to that sound. Lance hikes his legs up and curls them under his thighs and Keith takes the blanket and spreads it out so that it covers both of them, the warmth that’s already there spreading over Lance’s legs.

He glances down as Keith tucks the blanket around them, at the sleeves over Keith’s arms and pulls back a little.

“Is that my jacket?” And yes, yes it is.

Keith sighs like he’s exasperated, shrugs. He flicks his eyes up to Lance. “Dunno,” and Keith doesn’t even look at him. He’s looking down at his book, markings in Galran, and it can’t be that interesting.

“It is, you punk,” Lance struggles a little as he gets up, pushing the blanket from him, the couch too squashy for him to get good purchase. Keith grunts out an annoyed  _ hey, the blanket _ , but Lance ignores him.

Keith leans forward and brings the blanket back into his lap. Looks at his book, then, lifts his gaze up, look at Lance from under the thick fringe of his lashes. His eyes are bright, the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Is it?”

“Fine!” and Lance stalks into the bedroom and gets to Keith's duffel bag.

Two can play at that game.

He thrusts his hands into it pulling out various article of clothing. Shirt, shirt, pants. Socks. Underwear. The bottom of the bag. He looks around and finally spots the familiar red and white arm sleeve from underneath the comforter.

He pulls it out, the fabrics sliding against each other in a quiet  _ ssshft  _ and Lance tugs it over his head.

The first thing (the only thing), that he notices is the smell. It smells like Keith. Like, really really like Keith and he thinks  _ oh no, this is Not Good. _

As Lance’s body warms the inside, the smell rises up through the neck of the sweater, sweet and thick. As Lance sits back on his heels, the air puffs up and forces more of that cloying scent into his nose. It's the one right under Keith's chin behind his ear, under the curl of his hair.

Lance crouches there for a moment, taking it in.

There's a creak behind him and he turns, shy.

“Is that  _ my _ jacket?”

“Y-ye- No!” Lance shouts getting to his feet, stumbling in his haste. “No, it's mine now!” He says as he pushes past Keith and throws himself onto the couch again.

He hears Keith chuckle and Lance huffs in defiance. There's the drawn out groan of the floor boards, light footsteps. Keith comes to sit next to Lance while he pretends to be reading the news, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling.

“Why are you so red?” Keith asks in his ear. “If you're hot you should take it off,” and Lance flushes hotter.

“Keith, dude,” Lance breathes out and closes his eyes.

Keith chuckles in his ear, amused and sexy, sounding so close. He kisses Lance's cheek, quiet and soft and curls back into his corner of the couch.


	12. Memory

“Come on, Lover Boy,” Keith says on their last morning in the little house in the desert. He downs the last of his coffee, black, no sugar, the heathen, and grabs the keys to his truck. He lets it jingle from his hand, the clink of the metal swallowed up by his palm.

Lance stands and puts the dishes in the sink, grabs his (Keith’s) jacket and follows him out.

Keith whistles and Lance hears a small fizzle and pop and when he fully comes outside, Kosmo is already sitting in the bed of the truck.

They clamber into the cab and the body rocks on the suspensions with a loud creak. Keith starts the engine and it roars to life.

And they drive.

It’s about twenty minutes later that Lance recognizes where they’re going.

 

*

There’s no path to the cave that hid Blue. It’s just a hidden hole in the side of a mountain, and even that is set behind a craggy collection of hills. The stone that bears the entrance looks the same and he belatedly realizes that rock doesn’t age like he does. 

He thinks of how long Blue waited here, of how she didn’t age either.

Lance pauses before he steps foot inside, no magic calling out to him to bring him in deeper. He feels her, not here, but out there, distantly- all of time and space in-between them, and for a brief moment his chest fills with the ache of missing her.

Keith comes up to him, takes his hand. Doesn’t flinch when Lance squeezes his fingers hard. Lance can feel the shifting of small bones under the skin in his grip.

“I know, I know,” Keith murmurs and presses a comforting kiss to the side of his head.

Lance’s heart swells.

They walk through the cave, Kosmo’s big body a comforting presence at his back. Not like they would get attacked, it’s a time of peace, after all, but even then, he’s familiar.

He sees the shadow of the hole they fell down, sliding through water and landing with a splash, and they skirt around it carefully. Keith motions to a set of roughly carved steps that lead down and they take them carefully.

The way is dark but Keith had the foresight to bring a flashlight, and he points it at the ground as they go.

The stairs finally even out and the cavernous space makes their footsteps echo. He sees the dias that Blue sat upon, empty now of its charge and he never took the time to realize how massive she was. 

He walks up to the platform, kneels down and touches the rim, focuses.  _ Hey, girl _ , and, faintly, so very far away from him but always there, she rumbles back.

Lance smiles.

They sit on the edge of the dias, listening as the water drips off the stalactites that look like giant teeth in the gums of a beast.

Lance closes his eyes and leans back until he’s lying down, soaking up the air that used to house his lion. Keith doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. Lance knows the things that Keith wants to say;  _ this place gave me purpose, this place gave me you, Red might have taught you your self-worth, but Blue taught you how to love yourself first. _

Lance rolls to one side, curls around Keith's hips. He props up on one arm.

Keith turns a little and looks down at him. “Alright?” He asks, his voice bouncing off the walls.

Lance closes his eyes, absorbing this place into his pores. The cool and damp, how comfortable he feels in this space.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Alright.”

 


	13. Heartbeat

Keith wakes with a start.

The wind is howling outside, a wild, low whistle. The dust slams into the side of the house in hard pushes and Keith worries that the roof might blow off.

Kosmo whines, flashes and appears next to Keith, and with a whine presses his cold nose against his shoulder. Keith brings up a shaking hand, pats the side of his neck in the dark, running his fingers through his fur.

_ Sleep, child, _ he hears, and Keith nods, pets over Kosmo’s ear, tugs softly at the cartilage and feels the short, soft hairs slide through his fingers. His ear is warm and glides like silk through his palm and it flicks away after a moment. He would always do this for Keith whenever Keith woke on the cosmic whale, trembling and scared.

It's been a while since Keith's had a bad dream but coming here probably stirred up his heart.

Lance mumbles in his sleep and Keith feels the chill of the nightmare he had slowly start to seep out from him. He turns carefully on the mattress, pulls the comforter up a little more so he can slide closer to Lance’s warm body. Throws his arm over Lance’s chest. Presses his cold feet to Lance’s ankle.

He grunts in his sleep, shifting a little away. When he realizes what’s going on he slides back in. “Mm’wassat?” He slurs.

“You’re warm,” Keith says and tucks his face to Lance’s chest. Lance’s immediately wraps his arm around Keith’s shoulder and starts rubbing up and down lazily, still half-asleep.

His hand stops, starts up, stops, starts up again in an uneven rhythm, squeezes at his shoulder every few passes. It’s soothing to say the least and before Keith knows it, he’s drifting back down.

“Wanna talk about it?” Lance asks, voice more clear than Keith expected. He blinks his eyes open in the dark. Keith’s been awake long enough to see the moon illuminated shapes in the room; the messy sheets on the bed above him, his half-unloaded duffel bag, the rise of Lance’s chest under his chin. His eye lashes and crest of his cheek, all of it highlighted by the night’s light coming in from the window.

Keith snuggles in closer to Lance, curling his legs, lifting them and burrito-ing his feet into the pocket of warmth created there, the heat from Lance’s body making it good and toasty. He shifts with him, his body opening for Keith to settle against.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Keith says softly,  _ maybe never, _ he thinks silently, but even over the sound of the wind against the eaves, Lance hears him.

“‘Kay,” he agrees on a yawn. “Sleep now?”

He nods against Lance’s chest, inching his head a little higher onto his sternum. Under his ear he hears Lance’s heartbeat pick up, then slow, a steady  _ thump thump thump _ under his cheek. Lance is playing with his hair again, twirling it around his finger.

He knows that Lance can comfort him, listen intently and console him. But the dream is still too fresh, too raw and Keith was never good with his words.

For Lance, though, he'll try.

“I-” and Keith swallows, the lump in his throat too big.

Lance covers his eyes with his hand. “Shh, now,” he murmurs, his fingers cool against Keith’s hot eyes, wet at the corners. “You’re okay,” and he hums a tune, the sound right against Keith’s cheek.

“You’re safe,” He promises.

Keith breathes slowly, counting the rise and fall of Lance's chest. Lance hums more, slow and steady, like his heart. Starts to sing. Lilting. A lullaby in a foreign language Keith can’t understand.

But no matter, he feels it all the same.

_ Maybe,  _ he thinks, bolstering his courage,  _ Maybe, finally, tomorrow,  _ he thinks.


	14. Training

Lance is training.

It's not training in the physical sense. He's a pretty buff guy all in all so he doesn't need to work out thank you very much. Check out these guns.

No, he’s training his heart.

He looks at Keith across the field, the pink petals of the juniberries tangling in his hair as he lies on a blanket in the sun. Kosmo lies next to him and lifts his head every so often to watch a bird flutter past to nestle into the tree to their right.

Lance can see, even at this distance, the sweep of his lashes, dark against his pale cheek, how his chest rises and falls as he breathes evenly. Lance closes his eyes and tries to erase the image of Keith there, out in his yard, and he can’t. Has the image of him burned into his mind.

He leaves the window that he’s standing at and goes to the counter to pour hot water out of the boiling kettle. The smell of assam from the tea rises up in curls around his cheeks, making the tips of his hair flip. He lets it alone to steep and transfers it to a thermos.

Lance rummages under the sink for the wicker basket he keeps there, packs some sandwiches and stubby carrots, some cubed up cheese and almonds. Two blocks of chocolate brownies that his niece made and picks up the thermos to carry outside.

Kosmo lifts his head and perks his ears in Lance’s direction, this tail thumping right into Keith’s face. Keith jerks, flails his arms, and pushes Kosomo’s body away. Lance throws his head back and laughs, coming to kneel onto the blanket next to Keith’s hip.

“Lunch,” he says and pulls out a sandwich to give to Keith. He puts the spread before them, and they pick at it as the afternoon wears on.

Lance files away every sound that Keith makes: his full bellied laugh, the ugly but hilarious snort he makes when Kosmo sneezes, how his voice drops in pitch when he talks about Shiro and his contented, married life. Lance memorizes his face; more brown than he was, and he’s starting to break out in freckles across his nose. There’s the slender arch of his eyebrow as he quirks it in question when Lance misses what he’s asked.

He locks it all away for later, when Keith inevitably leaves to return to his duties. He’ll be lonely, of course, but this is the life that they live and he really wouldn’t change it.

Keith is drinking the tea when he tilts his head and looks at Kosmo. The big, time-space jumping dog is looking right at Keith, his eyes a bright gold. Keith hums and nods, goes back to drinking his tea.

“He wants to stay this time,” Keith says as he stands. He puts his hands on the small of his back and pushes against it and Lance can hear some of the bones pop. He offers his hands for Lance to pull on to get up with.

“Who?” Lance asks slipping a hand into Keith’s. He tugs and Lance comes easily, Keith being able to bear all his weight. He stands close, the smell of sun and cloves wafting into Lance’s senses like a cloud and he takes it into his lungs.

Keith tilts his head into the big dog’s direction and Kosmo stands, coming up to Lance. He presses his nose to the back of Lance’s arm. It’s wet and cold but with it comes with a sense of blanketing comfort. He slides his fingers through the soft fur under Kosmo’s muzzle, down his neck, ending with light pats. “Good boy,” he says.

“It’ll only be a few weeks,” Keith tells him, cradling his hands. He pulls and Lance comes, tucking his face into the shallow crook of Keith’s neck. He starts rocking them back and forth. “Only a supply run,” he tells him.

“I know,” Lance says, huffing out a breath and he’s trying to not be so emotional over this. He’s been separated from Keith longer than a few weeks! Before…! Before Keith could be gone for months and it never affected him like this.

_ Like this meaning you’re in deep, McClain. _

“You better bring me something back,” he tells him, pressing his face into Keith’s skin, presses his tears back in. He will not cry, dammit.

Keith laughs, the two of them shaking them a little with it. “Okay, I will,” he promises.

Lance thinks of all the nights in-between now and later and his chest aches a little. But I’ll be okay. Keith will come back to him definitely is what all that matters and Lance clings to that thought like a lifeline.

But now, for now.

He trains his heart.

Bolsters it.

Feeds it everything he can while Keith is still here so that when he goes, it won’t hurt as much.

 


	15. Distance

Keith likes to jog at night. Well, as nighttime as it gets out in space. I helps him keep his head. He’s not one for words, but thoughts he can’t stop. 

He thinks of Earth, of Lance, of home, finally a home, and the rhythmic pound of his feet puts those thoughts closer to the back of his mind rather than the front. It makes him hurt less, the ache concentrated in his thighs and calves, the almost burst feeling of his expanding contracting lungs.

The ache isn’t in is heart, where it beats so furiously with each brisk step he takes, not where it wants to be to tear Keith up.

He doesn’t let it there.

At some point Axca joins him, after his 2nd lap around the ship. Her footfalls blend easily with his and her breathing is steady. They don’t speak. They don’t need to.

Keith never knew the meaning of distance until he came out to space, and even then it was still a warped concept. Each jump worm-holing away from the Galra battleships took them further from Earth. It didn’t really mean that much to Keith, then. He had all his people with him after all.

It was when he was on that cosmic whale, did he finally understand.

Two years.

While the rest of his team had only aged months.

Two whole years of his life separated from the rest of them.

He learned patience, acceptance, on that whale. Learned how to the change the things that he could, and let the rest be, let things take care of themselves because they always would, in the end. He was fortunate enough to be with his mother, that he didn’t have to face that distorted stretch of time alone.

They were mere strangers in the beginning, but the whale had a way of dealing with that, too.

It showed them glimpses of each other’s lives, made them feel each other’s longing; Keith, for a mother he needed and never knew, and Krolia, for a child that she only held once but had burned righteously for the cause with a mother’s protective instinct.

It never faded in all the years that she was away and with that thought brought Keith a sigh of relief- that he wasn't abandoned. That she did it out of great love for him.

It was probably the olive branch that they needed to bridge the gap, to bring two separated pieces back together to make a bigger whole.

His mind drifts back to Lance (always Lance), who was once another lonely piece, now a part of him, currently missing. He had clicked so seamlessly into his life, so easily, that it feels wrong not to have him close by as Keith travels so far from home- from him.

He misses Lance, misses his smile and his laugh- time and space between them now a gaping maw, and all Keith wants to do is fall into it and return to him. At least Kosmo is there to keep Lance company, and Keith has his Blades, but through the Lance-shaped hole in his heart blows a cold wind.

Keith ducks his head, sprints. Runs from those thoughts. Axca keeps pace with him, this time her breaths coming out in louder puffs. He takes the length of the ship at this speed, his thighs screaming in protest and the sweat starts to roll down the length of his face more urgently.

But Keith pushes on. Doesn’t let the carrion birds of his loneliness pick and eat what’s left of his fragile heart.

It's another five minutes of his hard running and then Keith slows to a jog, comes down, and spots his towel and water bottle close by.

He swipes at his face and neck of sweat, inhaling the smell still lingering in the fabric- sun and Lance’s laundry detergent, and under that, the faint smell of the man himself.

It’s subtle but there, and Keith stills, eases his senses into it.

“Four more quintants,” Axca says quietly, almost casual, but you don't fight wars with people and not come to understand them. She tips her head back and squirts water into her mouth.

Keith nods at her within the muffled confines of his towel.

Breathes deep.

_ Four days,  _ he thinks.

Breathes again.

_ Soon _ .


	16. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spice warning

Keith had come into his life like a storm, loud and rattling, a whirlwind. The loud blast of the explosion used to rescue Shiro heralded Keith like the roll of thunder. And even after that, being rushed out into the desert, rushed out into space on Blue. Rushed away from his home to fight at war. Complete tizzy. 

Rain slams onto the side of the house and Lance pulls the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. He curls his body and tries to gather the warmth to him. Kosmo is a warm line against his back and Lance has half a mind to flip the blanket open and toss it over him to get at some of his heat.

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed closely by the crack of thunder, right over his house.

He’s been lying here for the better part of an hour. He had been close to actually falling asleep, the rain gentle tapping on his window, before it started up in earnest.

There’s another crack of thunder, seemingly closer this time, and it shakes the glass in the wooden window frame.

He feels Kosmo shift on the bed, his tail thumping against the comforter and Lance reaches a hand out to pet the dog and soon he’s being zapped out of his bed and into the pouring rain.

“Wha-!” he shouts, landing on the wet ground, mud getting all over the sheet he managed to bring with him.

But his words get cut off by another roll of thunder and the sight of Keith looking like a cat that hauled himself out of a lake. Lance probably doesn't look all that different.

Keith stretches out his hands and Lance takes them, lets himself get hauled to his feet. He falls into Keith’s arms, presses his face into the crook of his neck, feels the chilled warmth of him.

Another crack and Lance jumps. Keith huffs a laugh into his ear and it chases away the time was between them, the sound of him making him solid, real. Right here in Lance's arms.

Keith squeezes him, picks him up, presses his mouth to the side of Lance’s neck, murmurs  _ Hey, Lover Boy _ , low, so low, and spins him around in a circle and the rain keeps coming down down down in a torrent.

Lance laughs, hikes his legs up and wraps them around Keith’s waist, tangles his fingers in Keith’s wet hair. Kisses him. Elated to have him back. To have him home.

Keith tastes like the darkness of space, wild and dangerous, like some kind of foreign fruit and chocolate, too. He’s warm all down Lance’s front, the tight bands of his arms holding him close. He starts walking them back to the house, a few short strides and he presses Lance up against the wall of the front porch, presses hard and heated into him.

The front door bangs open and Keith kicks it shut with his the tip of his boot, the heavy wood of the door slamming almost out of the frame. He nearly upsets Lance out of his arms in the process. They laugh as they fumble around in the dark.

Lance fists the fabric between Keith’s shoulder blades, tugs up, and Keith eases him to stand in the middle of the hall, pulling away only a fraction so that Lance can remove the shirt from him. He runs his hands over damp skin, the pads of his fingers catching against each giving dip of muscle of Keith’s back.

Keith sighs into his mouth, his breath tasting like Lance’s, the quick, devilish squirming of his tongue is all Lance can feel.

Keith pushes him and Lance goes, sits against the arm of the couch, _ Here, right here, oh, Keith, please, need you, I need you,  _ his mouth a furnace against Lance’s throat, biting and sucking, nips and kisses and one, memorable lave of his tongue over his hammering pulse point. His fingers urgent things against the drawstrings of his pajama pants.

Lightning flashes outside but Lance can’t hear the answering sound over his thundering heart.

Keith turns him, bends him at the waist, kisses down his spine and Lance loses time for a few blissful minutes.

Keith straightens, looms against his back, his hands gripping him so tightly  _ Missed you, so much, Lance, Lance _ and Lance’s skin breaks out in raised bumps all over his arms and shoulders and back as Keith takes him, _ It’s you, only you,  _ utterly, completely, his breath harsh and hot against the nape of his neck.

And with each sharp snap of Keith’s hips Lance feels the distance close further, bringing him closer. Bringing them closer. Callous-rough fingers spread over his and Lance shifts, stretches his hand wide and curl their fingers together, holding on.

_ Keith, Keith- _

_ I know, it’s alright. _

Keith adjusts his hold, pins Lance to him, surrounds him.

The lightning flashes like daylight outside, the constant rumble of thunder loud in Lance’s chest and he feels it building, the coil winding tighter in his gut until it snaps, breaks, and all of the muscles in his thighs and belly tense and quiver as he tumbles over that edge into oblivion.

He tips forward and grips at the armrest once he's finished, bracing himself as Keith finds his own end. It’s not violent or rough like he’s expecting but it's soft, quiet. Just for Lance to hear.

Keith still and rocks against him shallowly, wraps his arms around Lance, the one he’s still holding crossing over Lance’s chest.

“Wel-” his voice cracks, “Welcome home,” he manages, swallowing around his dry throat.

Keith squeezes him. Kisses the round of his shoulder. His neck. The soft shell of his ear. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I’m home.”


	17. Rivalry

Lance has been many things in his short life: student, pilot, Paladin, War Hero (well, maybe not  _ hero  _ hero but it does have a nice ring to it).

Friend.

Lover.

Rival.

He’s been a rival now 3 times in his life.

Against Keith (even though it was more one sided on his part).

Against Lotor.

And now against his seven year old niece, too big to be carried but insisting anyway. She’s being held against Keith’s jutting hip, his arms around her waist to keep her steady and she’s talking and talking and talking and talking and Lance is super jealous.

No, wait. No. He’s not going to be jealous over a little kid, but.

But she’s taking up all of Keith’s attention!

Keith who had been gone for weeks, showed up in a storm (dramatic much? And gave him a nice welcome home celebration) and then, they got immediately invited to a big family dinner and  _ Lancito, will you please cook? Great, thanks. Keith can look after the chiquito’s for a bit while we get everything set up. _

Cut them a break.

Lance grumpily pokes at the yams in the oven, mixes them around so they cook evenly. Sighs. Moves to the counter opposite and starts cutting into some mangoes.

Sighs again.

“What’s wrong,  _ mijo? _ ” Lance’s mother asks him as she comes into the kitchen. She’s wiping her hand down her apron, shifting a basket on her hip. In it he can see an assortment of roots and vegetables and she puts them in the sink to rinse.

“Nothing,  _ mamá _ ,” and he sighs again.

She comes up to him and slaps the back of his arm hard. “God will strike you down for lying,” she chides, slides her fingers in his hair and brings him down to peck a kiss to his temple.  _ “Que pasó?” _

Lance closes his eyes. Grunts as he jerks his chin out the window to where Keith and Nadia are playing. He’s stomping around the base of a tree like a dinosaur while chasing her and her squeals echo through the yard.

“Ah,” she says knowingly. “Vying for his affection?” and she giggles behind her hand. She brushes a strand of greying hair away from her forehead and moves towards the sink and runs the tap. She scrubs the roots with a brush, turns on the spray and rinses the greens.

They prepare and cook the food in tandem, the smell of warm spices and rice permeating the air. His mother hums, a song from the old country, and Lance picks up on it, joining her.

She drifts into conversation and asks him about their trip to the desert. He tells her about the little shack and the barren beauty of it. She asks him about the things they did there and he tells her they went to visit where they found Blue. She asks him about what happened after that and he tells her that Keith left for a while to do some Blade work.

He flushes a little at the end of that particular story and she gives him a critical eye. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” and she snaps the dish towel at him playfully. “We’re all adults here,  _ cariño _ ,” and she taps the side of her neck. Lance slaps his hand around his throat, remembering the heat of Keith’s mouth there just last night.

“Mom!” he shouts, his face heating further and she cackles.

_ “Abuela! Abuela!” _ And Nadia bursts through the back door and makes a beeline for her, slamming into her legs and wrapping her arms around her waist with a hug. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, little one,” and she smooths back Nadia’s flyaway hair. “Your uncle is just being dramatic, as usual,” she tells her.

She gives Nadia an exaggerated look up and down. “Turn around?” And Nadia spins, her sun dress flaring at the hem and she giggles as she makes a complete twirl. “Uwahh, who braided your hair?” she asks as she pets at her crown.

She giggles and throws her arms up, runs over to Keith, slams into his legs and hugs around his waist as well. “Keith did!”

“It’s been a while,” he says, taking and looking at the plait in his hand. “Since I’ve done one,” he adds, voice a little shy. He plays with the little brush tip of her hair with his thumb and forefinger.

Lance stares on hungrily.

His mother comes up to him, bumps her hip against his and whispers, “You'd best be putting that look away around the young ones,” she jokes.

He groans and spins on his heel back to the stove, hoping that by him cooking he can mask the flush to his cheeks.

Keith never plays with his hair!

“ _ Abuela! _ Listen!” And she takes Keith’s hand into hers, tugs him more into the kitchen, and announces in her loud, little girl way, “I’m going to marry Keith!”

The spoon clatters against the counter top and everyone stills, the  _ sofrito  _ splattering all over the Formica. Lance jerks and turns around to look at Keith, his face a red tomato.

And his mother just laughs and laughs and laughs.

Rival indeed.

 


	18. Cozy

Someone helped put up Nadia’s princess tent off to one side of the yard. She somehow managed to drag Lance to finish it and put up the fairy lights that he unearthed from the closet. She’s standing outside the flap with her hands on her hips to boss- to instruct him how she’d like everything set up.

“No,  _ tío _ ,” and she stamps her foot. “You gotta make ‘em drape from the top,” and she slaps at his hip for no reason other than she can.

Lance huffs as he sits back on his heels, the ache in his back making itself more pronounced as he keeps on on fours. “Well, you do it, then, if you don't like how I’m doing it,” he says and starts to back out.

She huffs again, hits him on the hip one more time. “Ow! Nadia, jeeze, no violence,” and he rubs over the pad of his jeans at his side.

Someone calls for Nadia, her mother, both of them turning to listen. “Here,  _ mamá! _ ” And Rachel walks up to them with a plate.

Rachel looks down at Lance, smiles. “Bro, you’re terrible at this,” she says. “You have to drape the lights from the poles,” she says as she makes a sweeping motion with her hand. She takes her daughter’s hand when she's done gesturing, both of them ignoring her  _ See! I told you. _

“Come on, Nadia, let’s make you a plate,” she says. “We’ll let your uncle finish setting this up,” and she gives Lance a wink.

He shoots back a withering glare _ ,  _ sighs, “I can’t win with this family,” and proceeds to let loose some of the strands, making them ‘drape’ and why is he putting so much effort into this project if they’re just going to take it down at the end of the night-

“It’s because you love her and you’re the only one she calls  _ tío  _ so happily,” Keith says coming up and standing behind him. He has a plate in his hand, piled with food and two drink cups.

He motions for Lance to take the drinks, waits for him to set them down, hands him the plate and proceeds to bend at the knees to kneel and crawl into the little pink tent with Lance.

Keith settles his legs, sits up straight and takes the plate to set it between them on the blanket. He starts to eat fruit with his fingers, the heathen, sucking his thumb to get the juice off and the muted glow from the setting sun colors his face a rosy orange. It’s setting fast, though, and the fairy lights start to highlight the tops of his cheeks with a brighter hue.

Lance clenches his jaw as he watches him. Forces his eyes to keep open  _ Don’t miss this, McClain, don’t you dare miss this  _ and Keith looks up at him from under the fall of his bangs.

“What?”

Lance just shakes his head, reaches his hand out, pushes back Keith's hair with the whole of his hand. “You’re beautiful,” he lets slip out and he focuses on what his words do to Keith, how his pupils dilate and how a pretty flush blooms across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He jerks his face away a little, blinks and looks to the slide.

“Lance,” he protests, shy and quiet and god, Lance wants to eat him up right here.

He smiles at him, letting Keith go to hide his hands in his (Lance’s) hoodie, tuck his chin in a little in the high collar.

Lance chuckles, _so cute_ , he thinks. Starts in on the food, lies on his side in the tent, his long legs sticking out of the entrance. Lets Keith slowly make his way back to him.

Keith pulls forks out of his pocket and hands one to Lance and their fingers brush. “Thanks,” he says softly and Lance grabs his retreating hand around the fingers, brings it towards him and kisses at Keith’s knuckles.

“Jesus, Lance,” And Keith slaps his free hand over his face to cover his eyes. Lance laughs at him, rubs his thumb over Keith’s knuckles as he lowers his hand.

He starts eating again, this time spearing some of the soft  _ ropa vieja  _ and rice onto the fork tines. Waits patiently for Keith to resurface again. It comes in the form of Keith spreading his fingers and looking at Lance with an exasperated expression. “Are you done?”

Lance sucks on the plastic in his mouth, the feeling of his grin splitting his face. He nods. Keith doesn’t look convinced. “Haha, okay, okay. Just eat,” he tells him. “I’ll lay off.”

_ For now _ .

Keith carefully ventures out with his fork, gathers up some rice and beans. When he doesn’t hear any word from Lance he eases into eating. They eat around each other, Keith taking meat while Lance alternates between the rice and yams.

They watch as the kids start to run around the yard after they finish eating, the paper plate and cups are empty, shoved to one side of the tent in the back.

Lance has to tuck in his legs as one of his cousins runs too close to his feet.

It brings them closer together in the small space, Lance’s long legs taking up close to half the sitting area. He curls around Keith’s hips from behind, the small of Keith’s back pressed to his belly and Lance starts to fiddle with the zipper accents on Keith’s cargo shorts.

The sun is completely set and his mother just turned on the lights to illuminate the patio and Keith and Lance hang out in Nadia’s princess tent while he tells him about his recent humanitarian run, what the planet and the people were like.

Keith never talks too loud or too softly, always the right volume. It’s warm in here, cozy. It makes Lance lethargic and he oscillates between contentedly awake and dozing.

Lance glances up when he realizes that Keith has stopped speaking and he peers at him from his lower position. He’s looking out across the yard in quiet contemplation. Watches as Kosmo chases the kids around the lawn, popping in and out of existence to startle them into laughter. Keith has his folded knees propped up against his forearms that are locked in front of him and he looks happy. Looks where he’s exactly where he wants to be.

And those damn fairy lights make his face glow like some ethereal creature out of a story book.

Lance pushes himself up on one arm and brings himself into Keith’s space, who blinks and focuses in on him.

“I love you,” Lance says.

And through the orange tint of the lights, Lance sees Keith turn cutely pink. He ducks his head and hides away into Lance’s shoulder. His breathing turns shallow and his breath hot against his skin. “You can’t just drop a bomb on me,” he tells him, voice muffled in his shirt.

“Well, it happened,” he says with a shrug, jostling Keith a little. He huffs into Lance’s neck and tucks his face deeper.

“You’ve said it to me before,” Lance adds, counters. “Why can’t I say it if it’s true?”

There’s a beat, then two, and Lance patiently waits.

Keith’s breathing is back under control when he finally pulls back, cheeks still a little pink, his eyes dart all over Lance's face. His eyebrows quirk inwards and Lance can see as he sucks in his bottom lip to bite at it to keep it from trembling.

Keith nods,  _ you can _ , but permission to what, Lance doesn't know, but he takes it anyways, always greedy for him.

Keith leans forward again, this time his face open and clear and Lance tilts his head, comes to meet Keith halfway, and they kiss, under the fairly lights, looking like a couple straight out of a story book, pink tent be damned.


	19. Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to [Lo que Siento](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qn-DKR6e6B8) by Cuco. It's the song that's on the radio.

Keith, who Nadia hasn’t let go of for the past hour, asleep in his arms, her head on his shoulder, stands like a sentinel as he sways them back and forth. His brother had put on the radio and the music drifted from the table into the open air, lilting notes and soft words. 

His mother is dancing with Marco and he’s swinging her around like it’s some upbeat salsa. They’re both laughing and she’s keeping up with him in spite of her protests that she’s too old to do so. They give a wide berth around the small corner of the space where Keith is standing with the little girl in his arms.

He has his hand stroking along her back and every so often he pats between her shoulder blades.

Lance watches as Rachel comes up to him, smiling at Keith. He shakes his head a little, face pinking and he shifts Nadia in his arms as Rachel opens hers. There’s some shuffling and she’s being transferred over and Nadia opens her eyes a little, gives Keith a sleepy smile and pecks him on the cheek.

Lance hears, “Nite nite,” as he walks up to them, and  watches as Nadia curls her face into Rachel’s neck as she gets carried back into the house.

“She can fall asleep anywhere,” Lance tells him as he stands next to Keith, taking his hand and pulling him around. Keith hums and slots his hand into Lance’s, his arm coming around and wrapping around his waist. “You tired, too?” he asks, holding Keith to him.

Keith yawns as he asks, resting his cheek against Lance’s shoulder. “A ‘lil,” he slurs. “Just,” and he yawns again. “I can stay up a little longer,” he insists and god- he sounds like a little kid.

“You sound like a little kid,” Lance jokes as he gently rocks Keith side to side. They’re stepping around each other in small circles, rotating in their own plane of existence as the world spins around them.

“I dun’,” he argues and his hand gets heavier in Lance’s, his body resting more fully against him. “I’m awake,” and he lets out another yawn.

“Okay, okay, whatever you say, Samurai,” and Lance keeps rocking them. Keith rubs his cheek against Lance’s shoulder in little circles, the hard point of his nose digging in a bit, and Keith’s arms start to sag. Lance shifts them so that both of Keith’s arms go around his waist and Keith’s thumbs immediately jam themselves into his belt loops.

Lance hums softly along to the song that comes up on the radio, a slow beat, words that Lance himself feels but doesn’t really know how to express.

_ Oye cariño, sólo pienso en ti, when I wake up in the morning until I go back to sleep  _

_ I promise I don't want nobody else to be around me but you nobody's lips can make me feel like yours do. _

“This is a nice song,” Keith mumbles against his throat. “What’s he singing?”

He’s singing about me, Lance thinks.

_ Lo que siento,  _ the man on the radio sings and Lance clutches Keith to him suddenly. It’s exactly _ ,  _ Lance swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s everything he knows of that’s inside of him, the things he feels for Keith that’s right there, right in his arms. 

“Lance?” Keith asks taking his face out of Lance’s neck.

Lance reaches up to stop him, hand behind the curve of his nape, threading his fingers through the thick hair at the base of his skull.

“ _ Eres lo que yo anhelaba en esta vida, que me falta _ , I can’t lie to you for real,” he sings. “ _ Sabes bien que te quiero _ , You came into my life and now I feel alright.”

Keith pulls a little harder away from him, brings his face right in front of Lance’s. His eyes are bright and he’s intently looking at him.

Lance gently takes up his hand again in a more traditional hold. “Promise you are everything I want, this is for you, listen, it's your song,” he sings.

Keith smiles at him, small and quiet, his face pink and sweet, and Lance would give his entire life to him if he were to only-

Lance’s heart starts to pound. Slam. Double time. Triple time in his chest. The heat building under his ribs radiating out through his body.

Yes.  _ Yes _ , he thinks.

If Keith were only to ask.

_ Yes _ .


	20. Ocean

Keith squints his eyes against the flare on the water as he watches Lance stand waist deep in the ocean. He has something in his hand, fiddling with it, but Keith can’t see what it is through the glimmering fractals of the water as the sun shines down on them. Keith wades out to come stand next to Lance, the waves tugging at this beach shorts in gentle pulls. 

Lance turns to him, his face already a little darker than before they got here, a few freckles splattering across his nose and cheeks, over the bright Altean markings. Lance smiles at him, his teeth pearly white against the contrast of his skin.

Lance leans into Keith’s space, kisses on his cheek in greeting, and turns back out to look at the horizon. Keith looks down at Lance’s hands, sees that he’s braiding a small shell into a length of hemp, defly weaving the strands in and around each other.

“Are you nervous?” Keith asks him placing one of his hands over Lance’s, takes the braid out of his twitchy fingers. Continues it for him.

“No,” Lance says a little too quickly. “Maybe a little.” He huffs out a laugh. “Dunno why I should be,” and he gives a shrug. “Maybe ‘cause it’s Shiro? He’s like, your brother and, like, Captain Atlas and, dude, he was my hero growing up. I’m going to feel so judged,” and he slumps dramatically, all the way down into the water up to his shoulders. Keith chuckles as he looks down at the top of his head.

Lance eases to lie down in the water, his body buoyant and bobbing, his hair spreading out around his face in a halo. His hand comes up to circle around Keith’s knee to keep him anchored, gets a little frisky running his fingers up the back of Keith’s thigh, retreats with a sigh.

“Drown me now,” he says looking up at Keith as he floats in front of him.

“Stop being such a drama queen,” he tells Lance as he finishes off the braid. “They’re going to be here soon, come on.”

Lance closes his eyes, gets up with a groan, the water cascading down his body in bright sparkles. Keith takes his hand and ties the strap around his wrist and Lance frowns down at it. “This was supposed to be for you,” Lance tells him with a little pout.

“You can make me something else,” Keith tells him and he hears as Lance hums. He looks up. “What?”

Lance shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

“Guys!” he hears from behind him and they both turn. Shiro and Pidge are at the shoreline, Pidge waving both arms at them over her head. Hunk and Coran not too far behind.

Keith looks back to Lance and-

Keith is utterly struck dumbfounded by the sudden, glaringly blue that’s looking back at him.

Lance’s eyes are shimmering softly, catching all the crystalline color from around them and pulling it into his eyes, reflecting the water like how the sky does when she looks down at the ocean and is pleased with what she sees.

And Keith can’t, for the life of him, think of any other time that he’s seen anything so purely blue.

Keith was never one for cliches but, let’s be real here for a moment, that was all before he met Lance.

His breath catches, his knees go weak, and, he thinks for a second, he actually swoons.

“Come on, Samurai.”

And that breaks the spell and Keith is still a little dizzy but he turns as Lance does, following behind him. Keith looks at his back, at the starburst of a scar, and Keith feels a swell of protectiveness wash over him like a wave.  _ Never again. _

Keith reaches out, his fingers catching Lance’s wrist and curling around it. Lance slows, turning to look back at him. Keith slides his hand another inch down, and he twines their fingers together. Lance blinks, blinks again. Looks down at their joined hands and then back up at Keith.

A smile breaks across his face like the dawn over the horizon and Keith is blinded once more.

Lance nods.

They come to the shore, hand in hand, Lance’s smooth, brown hand with his manicured nails held protectively within his. Shiro and Hunk and Coran and Pidge, all of them, are grinning like loons, their arms wide open to bring them in, tucking the two of them into a hug and Keith has never felt so full of love in his entire life.

In the circle of Keith’s hand, Lance squeezes, and Keith squeezes right back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus:
> 
> “So,” Shiro says, coming up to Keith once the news had been told.
> 
> “Shut up, Shiro,” he grinds out.
> 
> The tall man laughs, throwing his head back a little, “I didn’t say anything.”
> 
> “You said everything you wanted to say in that ‘so’, so don’t give me that bullshit.”
> 
> Shiro laughs again and puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “He’s a good kid,” he says, voice encouraging, serious. “I had a feeling when you told me you were going out to the desert together.”  
> 
> And Shiro takes Keith’s hand, presses his palm to Keith’s.
> 
> “It was going to be Adam’s,” Shiro tells him, a little wistful.
> 
> Keith feels something small but sturdy, warm and delicate.
> 
> When he glances down, he swallows around the lump in his throat. Blinks back tears.
> 
> “Give it a good home,” Shiro asks of him. Keith nods, the only promise that he can make in the face of this gift.
> 
> Keith curls his fingers around the object tightly, protectively, like how he was holding Lance’s hand not too long ago. He looks back up to his brother, “I will.”


	21. Team

There's splashing turns into a game of chicken, which, in turn, turns into a competition that puts at least four out of the six of them into warrior mode. 

“I just think if I have to fight without my arm, then you guys should tie one behind your backs,” Shiro says from the perch on Hunk’s shoulders.

“Nope,” Lance says, from under Pidge, “Dude, your arm is like, literally, out of this world, superhuman strong,” he adds.

“Come now, Paladins, let’s get this show started,” and Coran braces Keith’s lower back with his hands, widens his stance, and Keith tucks his feet behind Coran’s back. He has his arms up and ready.

“Uh,” Hunk chimes in, “What are the rules?”

“The rules are there are no rules!” Pidge says, nudging at Lance like he was a horse. “And go!” and that’s all the incentive Lance needs to start in on Shiro and Hunk. They strategized that they would take out the biggest first and leave the smaller ones for later.

Shiro is caught off guard for a moment, rocking on Hunk’s shoulders. But Hunk is built like a tank, they both are, almost four hundred pounds between them and Hunk bolsters Shiro like a wall. Shiro easily takes Pidge’s hands into one of his own, yanks, but Pidge is small and wry, wiggles here wrists out of his grip and Lance backtracks a little, getting his bearings.

He doesn’t see behind him, though, Keith and Coran, both of them ready. Keith gives a hard push and Pidge loses her center of gravity and she’s tumbling over Lance’s head into the water.

“You’re out Number Five and Number Four!” Coran shouts and drops into the water, gliding away from them like a shark, and this guy has to have a core of absolute steel because he still supports Keith and moves through the water like it’s nothing.

They circle around Hunk and Shiro, and Lance watches, rapt, at the way Keith’s muscles tense in his abdomen, corded in his chest and neck.

“Ten bucks on your boyfriend,” Pidge nudges him.

“I’m not going to bet  _ against  _ him,” Lance shoots back at her. He drapes his arm around her shoulder and she puts an arm around his waist. He gives a shrug, says, “Shiro’s probably going to win but I have to show a little faith in my man.”

They watch the two teams struggle for a bit, how they circle each other. And Lance should have known that the most dangerous shark was circling right next to him.

“So, does he have a big wang?”

And he sputters, flounders, chum in the water. “Oh my jesus,  _ Pidge _ .”

She grins widely, but just shrugs. “I mean, he already makes you happy, so I don't need to ask about that,” she says and Lance looks down at her serious tone. Was it that obvious?

Lance opens his mouth to say something to her about it but his brain in throwing up all the red flags with her crooked grin. “You gettin’ satisfied?” And okay, back to being a little shit, then. She smiles hugely, with all her dangerous shark teeth, and Lance wants to die.

“We are not having this conversation,” and Lance sinks into the water, all the way up to his nose. He blows out bubbles and they lap against this face in little pops. Peeks this mouth back out over the surface. “Yes, and yes,” he mumbles and dunks his head fully.

Above him through the water he can hear her cackling.

Lance pulls his head back up, surveying the fight before him. Keith has got Shiro’s hand in a grappled lock, his other hand stretched out for balance (not touching Shiro and be labeled a cheater). Even though Shiro claims it’s unbalanced, he’s holding his own. Pretty well actually.

Keith does a crazy move that unbalances his brother, yanking with their joined hands and then pushing with Coran bracing Keith as he tries to invade Hunk’s space. Shiro starts to fall and Keith spreads his fingers, jerks his hand away, and Shiro falls back into the ocean with a spray of ocean water and a shout.

Coran dips into the water, ducking out from under Keith, and rises, his mustache still in its pristine shape and Lance would kill for this man’s grooming secrets. They shake hands for good teamwork and Keith goes over to Shiro, tries to help him up, but Shiro grabs him and pulls him under the water, dunking him fully, and when Keith rises, it’s with a sputter, hair all in his face.

Lance treads up to him. “Guess you can’t win them all, eh?”

Keith dunks his head, reemerges with his face tipped up, pushing his hair out of his face and  _ oh, _ Lance is a lucky man indeed. He can see all of Keith’s face now; his pale forehead and cheeks, a little red with an oncoming sunburn, the dark arch of his eyebrows, his wet lashes, the bright, almost shimmering amethyst color or his eyes.

How that perfect cupid’s bow is puckered with his pout.

Lance chuckles, leans in. Presses his mouth to Keith’s cheek tasting salt and sun and inhaling a little bit of the oily coconut smell of sunscreen. “Victory kiss,” he tells Keith when he pulls back. “Come on,” he says.

He turns to his friends. “New teams,” he tells them- Coran on Hunk, Pidge on Shiro, and Lance on Keith. “This time, loser’s buying me a drink,” he says getting himself situated on Keith’s wide, sturdy shoulders.

“How do you know you’re gonna win?” Pidge quips from her higher perch on Shiro’s shoulders.

“Because we always made a good team,” Keith says from under him and  _ oh _ . He squeezes the sides of Keith’s head with his thighs. Runs his fingers through his hair, gathers and pulls his bangs back and ties them up.

Lucky man, indeed.


	22. Flirt

Lance kisses all over Keith’s face, his cheeks, his nose, the curl of his lips and Keith sputters  _ What are you- Shh just let me _ and keeps going. Over his eyelashes, his forehead, the line where his hair meets his skin _ Lance, will you quit- I can’t see _ and Lance leans more into Keith, more into his space, piling on top of him.

He hears Pidge scoff, mashes some buttons on her controller. Focuses back on the game.

Lance can see from the fire in Keith’s eyes that he’s really toeing the line, flirting dangerously with Keith’s wrath, but he’s just too cute in his anger to pass this chance up.

_ I love you, Keith. Until the day I die. _

_ Well, that’s going to be soon if you don’t. Get. Off of me, you oaf- _

_ Now, that’s not what you said to me last night. _

_ Oh my god, Lance! You’re going to, you’re doing this on purpose- Pidge is- _

_ Let her win.  _

_ I made a bet! _

_ Well, I’m more important. _

_ I made a bet that you’d have to go help her hold her wires when she cable manages. _

_ Keith- you- You’re just as tall as me! _

_ Oh, so now I’m as tall as you? _

_ Oh, my- gimme the controller. _

And Lance takes the controller from Keith, shoving his foot into his side to knock him out of the way- Peach zooms by, then Yoshi, then fucking Mario and Lance is in 6th place. He’s never going to catch up and he has the horrifying tunnel vision of standing in the mess of Pidge’s office, holding up cables as she arranges them, slowly, probably, just to torture him.

_ Bowser Bowser Bowser- _

_ I see him, shut up! _

_ Lance! _

And he’s drifting into the turn, catching the inside and yes yes he’s passing Mario and Yoshi and all he can see is the back of Peach’s stupid hairdo and, out of nowhere, Luigi coasts in and barrels into his cart, skidding him off the map and Lance scowls at Pidge, whooping like a maniac, upsetting the bowl of popcorn as she struts around the room like a running back making a touchdown.


	23. Fireworks

Keith digs his toes into the sand as they walk along the shore. He’s full from dinner on the pier, warm from the whiskey he drank a little after and he uses that as an excuse to list into Lance a few times, press himself all along his side. Lance just chuckles, takes his weight, bumps his shoulder to right him. Catches on that Keith’s only playing but still lets him.

Lance’s right hand is in his left and every so often he’ll swipe his thumb against the ridge of his knuckles, play at the webbing between his forefinger and thumb, rub at the skin of his ring finger, sometimes in circles against his racing pulse point.

With Lance, his heart always pounds.

Lance is humming some song next to them and drunk on his closeness. The air is heavy with the lingering warmth of the day, the sea’s salt making his skin tight. He feels the chafe of his shirt against the back of his neck and knows that he’s a little sunburn. He’ll have Lance rub aloe on it later for him, after his shower, let it cool his heated skin back down.

They’ve walked the length of the beach and have turned around, walking back the way they’ve come. Their footprints are no longer there, washed away by the water, but Keith remembers.

The pier is in sight, but still far enough away that Keith thinks he’ll tire before they really make it back. Hopefully, Lance will be up for piggy-backing him.  

“You gonna carry me back if I get too tired, Samurai?” Lance asks as they keep walking further away from the lot that the truck is parked at.

“Nope,” he says immediately. “You’re the one that’s going to carry me,” he tells him authoritatively.

“I’ll race you for it,” and his voice is high, like a kid, excited and ready. “And go!”

And Lance is off like a shot, sprinting down the shoreline, kicking up sand as he goes and Keith can only stare after him for a second, his instincts kicking in and he’s running after him, chasing his back, gaining on him and Keith hasn’t run all those laps around his ship for nothing.

Lance laughs and his hands reach out and snag at Keith’s shirt- “You cheater!” and Keith wiggles out of his hold, puts a little more oomph into his legs and he’s in front of Lance now. “Where’s the finish!” he yells, throwing his head back and laughing, already slowing down, turning and catching Lance as he closes in, the force of his body sending them into a spin. They circle around each other, holding onto each other’s arms and Lance joins in him in his laughter.

They’re close to the pier now, the sound of the water distorted against the pillars that hold up the boardwalk. They can hear the distant chatter of the people still there, the smell of food and the constant sound of the waves against the shore, the structure creating a little inlet for sound to reverberate unnaturally.

There’s a pop and they turn simultaneously, watch as a bright purple firework light up the end of the pier. There’s another pop and a green flare of light.  _ Pop! pop! pop!  _ Purple, blue, white- blooming and glittering and brightening the night sky in brief flashes. Keith sees some people gather at the edge of the pier, standing and watching. A little girl on the shoulders of a man, pointing to the sky as the fireworks put on their show.

Lance drops one of his arms as he turns to face the display fully. One of his hands are in Keith’s, thumb absently rubbing against his knuckles again, pressing against his ring finger, rubbing in circles.

Keith blinks, his heart pounding. Clarity bringing everything about this moment into sharp, crystalline focus.

He looks at Lance, how his face is illuminated by different colors.

Feels his heart swell in his chest, his ribs splitting at the seams trying to contain it.

The fireworks are going off in earnest now, flashes of red and white, the glitter of blue blue blue. Blue like the color of Lance’s eyes, like the ocean that they visited. Blue like the endless sky he falls into everytime he looks at this man that holds all of his heart in his hands.

Keith takes a simple, gold ring out of his pocket.

Tugs Lance’s hand up. Calls his name.

Watches those blue eyes turn to him, his face flushed and happy, and Keith will do anything he can to have him look like that forever.

Wants to be the cause of it for the rest of their lives.

If Lance lets him.

Keith gets down onto one knee.

And asks.


	24. Hands

Lance’s body is absolutely numb and all of the sound and color run out of everything around him, except for the color of Keith’s flush high on his cheeks and the bright glint of gold between his thumb and forefinger. 

Lance swallows, his throat dry, and he’s hyper aware of the sand beneath his toes, the wind, suddenly cold, blowing against his sweaty neck and the loud, streaming pop of the fireworks.

And of Keith’s expectant face as he looks at him.

Lance feels the blood erupt into his cheeks, run down the length of his throat and into his hand, the one that’s in Keith’s, and wherever their skin touches, it feels like a burn. He covers his face with his free hand, hides away for a moment because this is too much.

_ Jesus, Keith, you can’t, I- _

And Keith squeezes his hand, hard, loosens his grip, starts to pull away.

Lance immediately lowers his palm away from his eyes, catches the buckling look cracking down the center of Keith’s face. Grabs his wrist, his retreating hold, and no-

_ No! No, not like- fuck. Fuck. I’m fucking this up.  _

Lance drops to his knees in the sand. Looks down at where he’s holding Keith’s hand in a death grip. The long length of his fingers, thick and calloused and strong and he knows, innately, that these hands would never let him go.

Lance takes a deep breath. Blows it out through the O of his pursed lips. He looks at Keith’s face, downturned and shuttered. He leans into Keith’s space and in the short time that they’ve been together, Keith’s body responds to him through memory, tipping his face up. Meeting his lips.

Sighs into his mouth, tasting sweet like the dying summer, warm and close.

Kissing him like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do.

But this one won’t be.

They have a lifetime of kisses to share, and this is only one of the many that Lance wants to give to him.

_ Yes. _

He answers.

_ Yes. _

He says, to everything he's wanted.

_ You’ll be mine, and I’ll be yours. _

He vows.

And, he takes from his pocket a ring much like the one Keith has in his hand. Simple and gold. A never ending circle.

Slides it onto Keith’s finger, snug and perfect.

_ I wanted to ask first. To beat you at something. _

He admits.

Lance hears Keith scoff. Inhale with a wet, shaking breath. Lets it go on a laugh. Leans in close and tucks his face into Lance’s shoulder. Sniffles. Whispers how scared he was, how he thought Lance wouldn’t have him. How he promises that he’s going to make him happy.

_ You will, Keith. _

He tells him.

_ You already do. _

Keith nods against Lance’s shoulder, pulls away from his hiding spot. Looks at Lance with his luminous eyes and slides the ring onto Lance’s finger, a little too big, but that’s alright.

He takes Lance’s hand into his own, intertwining their fingers, brings it up to his lips and kisses the tops of his knuckles. Whispers to him that he’ll never love anyone else.

And Lance’s gold ring, simple and just a little too big, warmed by his skin, clinks softly against the one around Keith’s finger, a snug and perfect, never-ending circle.


	25. Summer

Keith stands next to Shiro with a warming beer in his hand, watches as his old friend flips thick cut steaks and turns bright ears of corn around on the grill. Shiro has a pink apron on that says  _ Show Me Your Kitties _ and he’s pretty sure that Shiro doesn’t know what that slogan really means, cute cats on the chest be damned.

He listens to the sound of the waves on the shore, and the quiet plink from the gold ring on his finger against the neck of the beer bottle startles him every time.

Shiro gives him sly glances every time and with each look Keith tells him to shut up.

Pidge comes out of the house first, arms laden with two bowls and she puts them onto the table at the side of the house. Then Hunk with a stack of plates and utensils piled high, then Coran and Lance, carrying between them pitchers of drinks.

“You could help,” Lance scowls at him.

“I’m good with watching, thanks,” he shoots back, taking a pull from the bottle. “Plus, I have to make sure that there’s no disaster here,” and he motions to Shiro who pinches his arm with the tongs.

Lance puts the pitchers down, comes up to Keith, takes his beer and drinks. The long pull of his throat distracting.

He makes a face. “This is hot,” he says and presses it back into Keith’s hand, almost all the way gone now.

Keith just shrugs, empties the rest out over the steaks and he laughs as Shiro panics as smoke billows up. “Give them five more minutes on the other side and we can take them off the heat,” he tells him, going back into the house to get a platter.

He puts the platter down onto the counter, brings out the chef’s knife and sharpens it to a fine point. He looks up and out of the window, looks at his team gathered around in the half-sandy half-grassy yard and his heart clenches.

How his eyes search for, find, and rest on Lance. How he knows that from here on out this is how he always will.

The scene overlaps with a vision of déjà vu, this exact picture. Just a glimpse.

Back on the cosmic whale, seemingly a lifetime ago, now.

He didn’t know what it meant, then. Was just a longing for a familiar face.

How his heart ached.

Keith presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, pushes the tears back in. Sees stars even though the sun is still out.

When he lowers his arms and blinks away the blackness, he looks back out, finds Lance looking at him with a smile. Keith squeezes his hand into a fist, his gold ring biting into the meat of his finger. Rubs his thumb against the side of it, something he thinks he’ll do from now on, just as a calming gesture.

He thinks of all the new habits he’ll have to adopt just so that he can deal with how much love wants to come out of him.

No longer nervous. No longer afraid.

Keith knows his place, now.

“Come on, Samurai!” Lance shouts and through the open window he can hear him, hear how his heart responds to that voice. Knows that with time it won’t thunder the way it’s doing so now.  _ Slow,  _ he tells it.  _ This is for you. He’s all for you. No need to get excited. _

Keith pulls the cutting board from the drying rack and stacks it under the platter, brings it back out to Shiro who lays the steaks to one side, then the corn. Takes it over to the table where plates are starting to ring around the sides. Keith cuts the fat off the meat, slices strips for everyone.

He settles next to Lance who turns to him with a smile, a lowered hand to his thigh and he squeezes the reflex of his knee. Keith jerks, kicks out, and Lance laughs and laughs and laughs, the sound of it filling the air.

Keith will never forget this time or this place; the little house on the beach at the end of the world, and the long pier at the close of a hot summer where the promised away the rest of his life to the person sitting beside him.

He will never forget how Lance looked as he dropped to his knees in the sand in front of him.

How this jerk made him almost want to blip out of existence when he thought he was saying no.

The sound of his voice as he promised his life in return.

Payback’s in the cards for Lance for that one.

But not right now.

Right now, Keith’s happy.

So incandescently happy.

Lance is leaning against his arm, heavy and warm, his thigh pressed tight to his.  

If he could, he would stop time here. Have it captured in amber.

And then, Lance says something to Pidge over the table, drawing his attention.

_ No _ , his heart thinks.

There’s still so much to do with this man beside him.

They have the rest of their lives to live together, after all.


	26. Trust

“Why are you so scared?” Keith asks Lance as he stands next to the open door of the small plane they’ve rented. 

“Keith,” Lance says in a stern voice, his I’m-not-fucking-joking voice, “We’re going to be falling thirteen thousand feet, praying for chance that the parachute will deploy at the right time.” He presses his hands to his face. “I don’t know how you talked me into this,” he says behind his palms but his voice comes through clear through the mic in his helmet.

Keith comes up to him, kneels on the floor in front of Lance’s legs. “Hey, we don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to,” he tells him.

Lance spreads his fingers. “How’d you get your certification any way?” he asks him.

“I had some free time,” Keith tells him, cupping both hands behind his knees, rubbing circles on top of his thighs with his thumbs.

He watches as Lance rolls his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “Okay, okay.” He says. Looks up at the rest of their friends, already standing next to their respective tandem instructor.

Hunk gives him a nervous thumbs up, but even he’s ready to go.

“We’ve fallen through the vast blackness space,” Keith tells him, leans forward and kisses the crest of his freckled cheek.

“Floated,” Lance corrects. “We’ve floated,” but he stands, turns his back to face Keith. “And even then we wouldn’t’ve smashed into the earth.”

“Stop being such a Negative Nancy,” Pidge says. She adjusts her goggles, tightens the straps on her harness. “Last one off is a rotten egg,” and she nods to her instructor and they make their way towards the open door together.

Coran follows her, the absolute glee on his face as he takes a swimmer’s diving pose and he salutes them as he goes out the plane. Shiro next, then Hunk.

And then there were the two of them left. He can hear through his headset Pidge’s whoops and hollering, Shiro’s breathy laughter, followed by Hunk’s nervous chuckle.

“Come! Number Four and Number Three! This is absolutely breathtaking!” And Keith smiles at Coran’s endearment. Even though they’ve grown, he still treats them like the kids they were when he first met them.

Lance nods, holds his arms out. Keith laughs, comes around Lance, pushes his arms down, tug at his straps, smoothes back his clothes and hair. He doesn’t need to. He just wants that closeness. He takes out his earpiece, then Lance’s, cups them into the palm of his hand for a moment.

Keith leans close, presses a kiss to Lance’s mouth and Lance sighs, leans into him for a moment and all the tension that was in his shoulders eases out of him.

“You’re the brave, Red Paladin of Voltron,” he teases as he pulls away.

Lance scoffs, seeks his mouth again. “Yeah,” and rubs their foreheads together. “I trust you, Team Leader,” he says. Slaps his face. “Yeah, let’s do this,” he says with a smile.

He puts back in his ear piece, then Lance’s. Goes behind him and hooks the straps to him so they can fall together. They shuffle towards the door and Keith can feel Lance minutely start to tense up again.

He chuckles, tilts his face forwards that short distance and noses at the short hair at the nape of Lance’s neck. Breathes against his skin, warm and steady. Lance’s shoulders drop and his breathing slows.

“Nice and easy,” he says, “In 3, 2, 1,” and Keith launches them out of the plane, the wind already enveloping and parting around them. He can feel Lance’s heart thundering through his back, the tense line of his spine all along Keith’s front.

He can see the other’s a little ways below them, parachutes brightly colored and open, gliding back towards the ground like over-sized birds. And the sky around them, so blue, the earth below them just a lush green.

“Open your eyes, Lance,” he tells him.

“They’re not closed,” he says and his voice is pitched high.

Keith chuckles, presses another kiss to the top of Lance’s spine. “They are,” he says with an amused huff. “You’re missing out, really.”

It takes another long second but he knows the moment Lance opens his eyes because he hears a gasp, and then another. Heavy breaths and a quiet _ holy quiznacking hell _ and Keith squeezes around his middle with his arms.

He encircles Lance’s wrists, brings them out and spreads them wide, covering the backs of his hands and twining their fingers.

“Told you,” Keith says and he feels their rings clack together when Lance tucks their fingers into fist.

Keith checks the gauge on his wrist, close enough, and starts the process of opening the parachute, the hundred plus hours of training coming back to his muscles.  Drogue, pin, pop, deploy. There’s a gentle yank, and they’re no longer free falling.

“And now, we’re floating,” he tell him. “Not so bad, is it?”


	27. City

A trip into the city never bodes well for Keith. It’s loud and smelly and the traffic really gets to him but Lance loves it so he goes for him. 

They spend the day mostly eating. There's a quaint bakery in a more upscale part of the neighborhood, and he eats the best almond croissant he thinks he's ever had. The coffee is good too, paired with the pastry and Keith looks at the display case and figures how much money he has left is bank account to buy out the lot.

Lance sees his longing expression and laughs, rises from his chair and gets four more things and a loaf of soft bread.

He keeps the bag out of Keith’s reach, though, saying  _ For later _ with an amused chuckle.

They drive around and look into different shops, stopping for a long time in a tucked away pet store and they coo at the rabbits shuffling around in the raised display case close to the cash register. There are fish and some birds but Lance keeps drifting back to the front of the aisles and Keith resigns himself to another twenty minutes with his thighs pressed to the glass, leaning over and petting between warm, long ears and twitching pink noses.

They wander around, go into candy stores, another bakery, and from there they take away two dozen pastel colored macaroons.

A group of boys run up to them, excited chatter, each one talking over the other and Keith has to tell them to slow down while Lance laughs next to him, doling out poses and autographs in turn. Keith signs his name besides Lance’s and watches as the boys run off cheering.

They get hot dogs from a small cart in the park, and two sodas for lunch and they sit on a bench in the park. Lance piles on mustard and relish and onions and Keith grimaces. Says,  _ You’re not kissing me after that _ , and he gives a nod toward Lance’s food. Lance chuckles, bites into the bun and hot dog and chews annoyingly.

Keith just shakes his head.

They go to some clothing stores after that, trying on ridiculous outfits and some not so ridiculous ones and ones that, Keith tugs on his collar a little, look really good on Lance’s long limbs like a display mannequin.

He buys Lance the shirt.

Once it’s dark, the heat of the summer still lingering but the air cooling for the oncoming fall, they head to a Thai restaurant that Lance swears has the spiciest curry he’s ever had. They sit at a round table with a clean tablecloth and white, shallow bowled plates.

A small Asian woman comes around, hair grey and pulled into a low bun. She smiles with straight teeth, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Lance orders for the both of them and a sweet Riesling to go with the curry.

She gives them a small nod and shuffles off to the back, calling out the order in a sharp, quick language.

They chat as they wait, people watch and talk about those around them and when the food comes, Keith inhales and the smell of the peppers tingles his nose. When he take the first bite, he wasn’t lied to. His eyes water and his tongue grows numb and all he can hear over his pain is Lance’s amused chuckle.

_ Good, good this is good _ , Keith tells him, coughs and takes some rice to try and balance out the heat.

He leaves a rather large tip for the delicious meal.

Lance drives them out of the city, the lights just little dots in the rear view mirror. The radio is on playing some old rock and roll song and the breeze floats in through the open window, bringing in the smell of tar and gas, then, after a few more minutes, of cooler air and open spaces and Keith closes his eyes.

Thinks of his hoverbike, thinks he might take Lance on it soon. Gun the engine and take them wherever he wants to go.

It's been a while since he's ridden tandem on it, the last time he did, they were three too many, but that's the in the past now and Keith wouldn't change it for anything.

 


	28. Magic

Keith has never been good with words. 

It’s been a running joke with Shiro after a gag birthday gift of an actual dictionary, that the man would tell him, _ Use your words, Keith _ and toss him the (admittedly worn) book. Keith would give him a nasty look, maybe flip him the bird, but, eventually, out of Shiro’s nosey presence, he would look up words and find out their meanings. He has a plethora of words to use at his disposal but he still has trouble getting them out.

Even though, he’s been told, on a hushed night back in Lance’s room, that Keith had given him the exact words he needed to hear when he needed them the most. Gave him strength when he was unsure of himself.

Keith stayed awake a long time after that, mulling over Lance’s words, counting Lance’s even breaths as he slowly fell asleep, glad that he was able to that for him.

He looks at Lance now in the low light of the living room, curled up on the opposite end of the couch, tucked into the corner with Keith’s legs thrown over his lap. He has a book in his hand, something Keith was reading a week ago that he suggested to him, and he’s about three quarters of the way done.

Keith knows magic, has seen it first hand in space, on the Castle Ship, in his lions, through Allura. Has seen the impossible. Made the impossible, possible.

But Lance.

Lance.

With him, he can’t even begin to explain the things he sees in Lance.

All the magic that he holds.

Fascination, enchantment- everything about him captivating and charming. Keith knows, even unto the end of their lives together, he will never be able look away from the sight of him.

Lance lowers his arm, wraps a hand around the bone of Keith’s ankle. Rubs at the soft, sensitive skin at the hollow of his heel. Chuckles at a line he reads. Breaks the spell of the moment. Keith smiles as Lance’s hand slides up his leg and doesn’t give Lance the attention that he wants, eyes still riveted to his communicator in his hands.

Keith listens as Lance huffs, shifts his weight and soon he’s being smothered by almost two hundred odd pounds of gangly body, pinned from sternum to toes, as Lance flops onto his chest. Keith spreads his legs, lets Lance settle a little more. He brings his arm up to tuck under his head, brings Keith’s book around to start back up his reading.

They’re quiet as they each do their own thing, content to just be in each other’s presence. Keith brings up the dictionary that he installed on his communicator, searches for the word  _ magic,  _ reads through the various definitions:

_ a quality that makes something seem removed from everyday life, especially in a way that gives delight _

_ something that has a delightfully unusual quality _

_ wonderful; exciting. _

Keith looks peers over his wrist at the brown head resting on his chest. He can see the swoop of Lance’s nose, the pout of his mouth as it gets squished up against Keith’s torso, when he blinks, delicately, a beat of butterfly wings.

And Keith does… something a little uncharacteristic of himself. He takes a screenshot of what he’s looking at. Does a terrible edit, but that’s it’s own charm. Sends it off.

He hears Lance’s communicator give of the faint ping of the notification, waits a little giddily as Lance fishes it out of his back pocket. 

Pulls up the message and waits for his reaction.

“Oh. My. God. You. Super. Sappy. Stupid. Mullet. Come here,” and Lance is painfully pushing off of his stomach and falling against Keith again, forcing all the air out of his lungs. Peppering kisses all over his face. “I cannot believe I’m going to marry such a loser,” and Lance presses a kiss to his mouth, gives it to him a little more heated than Keith expects, his heart fluttering in his chest at Lance’s words. 

_ Marry marry marry... _

Lance pulls back, tucks his face into the crook of Keith’s neck. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, and Keith can feel how hot his face is against his throat, probably blushing to the high heavens. But that’s alright. If he can’t see Lance’s face, Lance surely can’t see his own brightened cheeks, conjured there (as if by magic) by Lance’s simple statement.

_ Marry marry marry... _

And

_ Yes, I'm going to marry him. _


	29. Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spice warning

It’s hot in the club where Lance wanted to go, the crush of bodies making them stand close together at the bar and Keith’s a little drunk from the bright orange shots Lance kept shoving at him. He’s had maybe 3? 4? 7??? Who cares! He’s having a good time. Great time, actually. 

Lance is warm at his side, murmuring in his ear so as not to shout, and Keith’s teetering more towards this side of jumping him and making out like teenagers.

There’s a song with a heavy beat that comes on, and of course Lance knows it, he knows all the songs, and that’s a little unfair because Keith’s doesn’t like music, per se, it’s just that most things aren’t his taste, but  _ Lance  _ is tasty and he trusts his judgement.

Lance pulls him onto the dance floor, weaving through the mass of bodies that’s already there, and he doesn’t know how Lance does it so gracefully when Keith’s stumbling like a newborn foal behind him.

They make it to the center of the crowd, a spot magically opens up for them, and they’re ensconced between a pack of giggling girls and some frat looking guys, a few couples dancing together.

Dancing is a term that he would use lightly there.

But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is how Lance grabs him, swings him around and presses Keith against him, all smooth, flowing lines and Keith giggles when he sways into him.

“You’re so drunk,” Lance says right into the shell of his ear to be heard over the music.

“Yeeeep!” and Keith lifts and arm and puts it over one of Lance’s shoulders, curling around his neck to bring him closer, slides fingers into hair and tugs a bit. Lance huffs into the side of Keith's face in amusement, smelling like the sour beer with a lime that he drank. “What did I drink?” Keith asks Lance with a giggle tacked on.

Lance grins with white teeth, glinting sharp, like a shark’s, puts his mouth to Keith's cheek, moves his lips as he speaks, purs the name of the drink into his ear. Keith feels his temperature rise just to a little hotter at the dirty words that Lance says.

He leans back and Keith lets his breath go in a rush. Lance chuckles and he feels it more against his chest than hears it.

“That was the plan, actually, to get you drunk so I could have my wicked, wicked way with you,” he says playfully into the curve of Keith’s neck. 

Keith giggles as Lance’s breath tickles him. Throws his head back as he starts to feel lips on his throat. The room spins in a wild, pleasant sort of way and Keith giggles again. “But you’re acting way too cute to pass up.”

“No, no- wicked is good,” Keith breathes, but Lance shakes his head, and really, after riling him up? Keith huffs, braces his stance, starts to move, tries to get Lance to move against him in counter to get them to really feel good, but he knows that he’s doing it stiffly, too uncoordinated and unpracticed.

“Teach me how to dance,” Keith demands, his hands grabbing at Lance’s hips. “Like that,” and he jerks his head in the direction of a couple not too far off, dancing in a more, ahem, more primal way than what’s deigned proper in polite company.

Keith’s blood flashes hot in his veins of thinking about doing that, with Lance, right in public.

Lance chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart,” and Keith’s attention zeros in on Lance again, pulls away from his fantasy of acting naughty in front of all these people.

His voice makes Keith’s skin break out in little bumps all along his neck and shoulders and chest and thighs and he has to bite down a moan- but it doesn’t matter, _ it doesn’t matter _ , the people wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway.

Only Lance would.

And all that matters is him.

So Keith does it, lets it out from his mouth, rippling up his throat like an undulating wave- making him feel like an animal.

Lance growls in return, deep and guttural, nips at Keith’s collar bone, presses those predator teeth to Keith’s throat, pushes harder into him where they’re pressed, low, at their hips. That sound vibrates through Keith, deeper than the bass from the music, makes his blood boil even hotter.

“You already know how to dance like that,” Lance tells against his skin and Keith knows, knows exactly what he’s referring to. The night of the storm, when he came home, the night dark and thundering, much like the space around them is right now.

Keith feels like his body is absorbing the heat around him to pulsate inside of him, making his skin sweat and his gut ache, the bass pounding in his chest trying to compete with his hammering heart. He wants Lance to hear it, wants him to hear what he does to Keith.

The music changes, something that has more of a snare than a bass and Keith feels it in his teeth. Rolls his body against Lance’s, slotting their hips together. Lance’s hands are all over Keith’s back, sweeping up and down, dipping into the hollow of his spine, slipping under to touch a little at his waist.

Drags his nails over his skin and Keith jerks hard in his arms, let’s out a breathy  _ aahn  _ into their shared breathing space.

Lance chuckles close into his ear. “Easy there, sweetheart,” hooks his fingers into Keith’s belt loops and forces Keith’s thighs apart with one of his own and thank god it’s dark and loud and everyone else is wrapped up in their partners because Keith is just this side of feeling a little too good.

The song changes again, and it must be a popular one because people pile in to fill the dance floor, forcing them closer, forcing them tighter, but that’s alright. More than alright.

It brings Lance all down his front, from chest to belly to thighs and Keith inhales his beer scented breath, the salt of his sweat, the cologne he put on just as they left the house.

Keith curses, tucks his nose right under Lance’s ear, where the skin is a lighter color than any other part of his neck, where his hair curls cutely with perspiration. Breathes him deep into his lungs.

Keith brings his mouth close to Lance’s ear, murmurs, “Take me home, Lover Boy,” and he feels how Lance’s fingers spasm on his hips, how he grunts and pants, nods against Keith’s shoulder. Rubs just a little bit desperately against him before taking Keith’s hand and pulling him through the crowd, shoving at people more this time around than easing his way through.

Keith chuckles, listens to the music pounding through the speakers, gets blinded for a minute as a twisting light flashes over the back of Lance’s neck.

His very red neck.

He squeezes his hand, locking their fingers and Keith thinks he might just like this song.


	30. Chapter 30

Lance kneels at the stone epitaph that's wedged up against an elm tree not too far from his house. 

 

> _ Where ever she goes _
> 
> _ There is laughter _

 

He had the words etched there not too long after he moved here, still tired from his grief, knew that this wasn’t the way to live his life. Knew that she wasn’t gone, no. She was everywhere. In every reality. In every part of him still.

_ Hey, how are you? _

_ I miss you, but it gets easier everyday. _

He pours water over the stone, runs his hand over it to rub dirt away.

_ I know you know, but I wanted to come tell you. _

His ring lightly scrapes against the stone and he smiles. The wind rises, wraps the smell of juniberry flowers and her hair all around him and he doesn't doubt for a second that she's right here with him.

He pulls the weeds away from the stone, pressing the grass back down to cover the holes that he's made with his pruning. He hums as he cleans around the stone.

Keith joins him after a few minutes, in his hand he holds purple tulips. He kneels and sits next to Lance, gently takes the shears from between them and cuts the stems at the tip.

"Hey, Princess," is all that Keith says. If he says more, Lance doesn't hear it. Keith arranges the flowers in the small vase, half buried in the dirt and sits back.

Lance glances at him and sees that Keith's face is tipped back in the sun, the line of his nose and chin and throat jagged peaks against the sky. 

He inhales deeply, lets it out.

Nods once.

His own private conversation with Allura.

Keith opens his eyes, looks at Lance. Smiles. He plucks a wayward flower petal from his hair, and brushes his bangs back from Lance's temple. Presses his lips there, warm and soft.

He stands, the sound of his knees popping as he rises.

Lance watches him go back into the house, the screen door squealing open and then shut and Nadia's bright voice even from this distance. Lance shakes his head in amusement.

He turns back to Allura's stone. Puts his hand against it, feels how warm it is from the sun. He rubs his thumb against this one spot, smooth from where he's touched it so many times.

There's a rush of wind, the chirrup of birds from somewhere deep in the branches of the tree above him, the sun cutting through the leaves.

Nadia's laugh and Keith's answering one.

He smiles at the sound, excitement and joy welling up inside of him.

And he tells her.

_ He asked me, and I said yes. _


	31. Future

Lance stands from his kneeling position, first with one leg, then the with other, his trick knee tensing in the wrong way to almost take him down, but he adjusts and rises just fine. He gathers up the shears and the cup he used for holding the water and puts them into the garden shed to the side of his house. 

It’s a little hot in the small building. The day is one, last throbbing Indian summer, holding back the oncoming chill of fall and Lance sweats under his arms, the back of his neck, the soft dip of his lower spine. He wipes at the perspiration on his forehead with his shoulder, tidies up the table a little. He lines up the tools on the rack to find later. Looks around to see if he needs to sweep the floor. He…

He doesn't know why he’s stalling.

Lance braces his hands on the table, leans over between them. Blows out air from his lungs through his pursed lips.

He knows why.

Everything he wants is waiting for him in that house.

He’s told all the people that matter and he’s a little nervous to confront the reality of it. Like the really real reality of it. It’s not that he’s worried about being with Keith; he’s been around Keith for a long time now, and while their romantic relationship is still new, they’ve still been through a lot together, grown up together, grown close- closer still.

His heart starts to thud heavily against his sternum. Squeezes when he hears his niece’s laughter, small and high like little bells and he thinks, maybe- he’ll ask Keith if, swallows hard around the jitters in his chest, if he wants- If Keith ever thought of-

No. Just.

Nevermind.

_ Shut it down, McClain. _

Lance shakes his head of the thought, but it’s a burr on his mind as he turns off the light, shuts the door. Can’t stop thinking about  _ That _ .

He meets Kosmo on the way back to the house and runs his fingers through the dark muzzle. Cups behind his ear and gives him a scratch.

Lance smiles when he sees the big dog’s fluffy tail swish back and forth.

Kosmo's eyes flash gold, a pulsating light, and Lance gets the weirdest feeling of a memory being projected into his head, of it being called to the fore from- he’s confused.

He doesn’t know this memory.

He sees Kosmo curled up on a rug next to the roaring hearth in his house and…

Someone small lying on his stomach next to him, protected from the fire by Kosmo's body.

Someone Lance doesn’t know. Not one of his nieces or nephews.

A nameless child’s face.

Then that child's face turns to him with a gap-toothed smile.

Says _ Papa- _

Lance blinks, pulls his hand back from Kosmo’s snout as the vision sends a literal jolt up his arm. Gets rooted to the spot with the cosmic animal’s bright golden eyes. He lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his face heating and his head throbbing a little as the deprived oxygen rushes back in.

He’s listened to Keith tell him stories about when he was on the cosmic whale, traveling through uncharted space where time stretched and condensed, twisted in and around on itself. Where Keith saw his past, Krolia’s past.

Glimpses of his future.

Kosmo sits on his haunches, huge and silent and patient.

His gold eyes boring into Lance’s.

“Kosmo,” he starts, swallows. “You-”

“Lance?”

And Keith is coming out into the yard, the sun disappearing behind a clump of dark clouds. Kosmo touches his nose to his wrist one more time and Lance gets that foreign memory feeling again, sees the shadow of that same child, a little older now- dark hair, green eyes, freckles, running up to him with Band-Aids on his scraped knees, shouting _Papa!_ and the child looks back (and Lance’s heart trembles when he hears _He’s out here, Dad)_ at Keith- 

Keith-

Who looks older, lines around his mouth and more around the corners of his eyes. Years of laughter in his face. His body’s a little more thicker around the middle (but Lance sees that he’s still fit). His hair is longer, tied into a ponytail, and his scar is just a light-colored mauve against the flush of his cheek.

Then, the clouds roll back and, between one cosmic blink and the next, the vision is gone.

Kosmo nudges his nose into Lance's palm, ruts hard to lift Lance’s arm on top of his head, whines. Pretends like he hasn’t shown Lance everything that he wants, simply, like it’s just a polaroid, waiting, in the dark, to be developed with expert hands and patient love.

_ It’s yours, child,  _ he hears, suddenly, quietly, in his head.  _ If you want it _ .

Lance looks down at this strange animal hailing from parts unknown, gets a little frightened that he can be read so easily, grateful that he can be. Awed at this gift he’s been shown.

His blood pounds, sings and his eyes feel hot at the edges. His tears cut hot streaks down his face and it takes him a moment to realize he's crying. He brings his hands up to cup his cheeks, weeps silently into this palms and then Keith’s there, all around him. The smell and the heat of him, the gentleness of his embrace, tucking Lance into the circle of his arms.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks him softly, knows to give Lance time to answer, just like how Lance gives him the space Keith needs for his words.

Lance shakes his head. Sniffles. Wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Nothing,” he says, voice breaking down the center. “Kosmo, he,” he takes a deep breath, “It’s,” pauses and looks for the right words. Tries again, “He showed me something nice, that’s all,” he says.

Keith gives him a worried look but doesn't press.

Lance touches at Keith’s hair because he can. Rubs the strands between his fingers. Black, like the space they once hurtled through to start their journey. And then, he thinks ironically, to end up here, back at the beginning, of all places, to begin again.

Lance smiles, comforted at the thought.

Lance thinks of the child with green eyes and dark hair and freckles splashed across his face like a galaxy, with a voice that calls out to Lance so sweetly, that he knows, without fear or doubt, that he'll make that future come true with Keith standing right there, right beside him.


	32. Fate

Contrary to popular belief, Allura isn't dead.

She's spread out over the cosmos, in every reality, and even though she doesn't have a physical body anymore she still has her own mind.

She's proud of Lance that he knows that. Talks to her like she's still there and she answers him when she can and he always looks comforted by it.

Allura looks at Lance from across the yard, watching him as he watches Keith. She knows the weight of his gaze after the being the center of it for so long and can only imagine what it must feel like to Keith. She smiles behind her hand when Keith looks up, catches Lance looking and flushes cutely.

Kosmo sits besides her, lounging on the front steps in the sun. He thumps his tail every time she giggles.

“I showed him,” he tells her.

She nods at him, lays her hand against his warm head. Pets between his ears. They lay flat and he happily whines at her.

_ Was it of the boy or the girl? _ She asks and the wind picks up, flower petals fluttering on the breeze. Keith braces against the wind, putting a hand to the back of his hat after getting teased by Lance when he broke out into terrible sunburn.

“The boy,” he says and Allura hums approvingly, nods again.

Allura concentrates, looks into herself. Sees all the realites running through her, her heart supporting them all and in every one of them, her boys are happy. At the end of the day, that’s more than what she can ask for.

She stands and stretches, Kosmo  _ You know that’s not my name, Princess _ following suit. He arches his back, flexes his claws, trots after her.

She circles around the two of them, gently watching. Runs her hand down Lance’s shoulder and watches his face as he smiles without knowing. Moves over to Keith and she pushes his bangs back from his face, the motion of her hand causing the breeze to blow it back. Studies his face. His strong jaw, and focused eyes.

His hands carefully working in the dirt like Lance’s, urging things to grow.

She's glad that it’s Keith, is assured in the fact from knowing him, even if it only for such a short time. She knows that he’ll take care of Lance in the way that she can’t, be there for him in the way that he needs.

Lance stands and walks over to Keith and they chat for a moment, Lance running the back of his arm over his jaw to wipe sweat away. He holds his hand down to Keith, offers to hoist him up, and Allura can’t  _ change  _ Fate, can only guide it, support it when it’s weak, but she  _ can  _ make it fun.

She bumps her hip against Keith’s and he stumbles, foot catching against “something” and he falls into Lance’s arms. They both laugh and murmur to each other, Allura turning her attention away. This is for them, now.

She drifts for a while and when she comes back to herself the sun is starting to lower deep into the sky. Lance is already in the house, washing his hands and Keith is standing next to her little stone memorial under the lush elm tree not too far away. His heart is quiet as he stands there and his thoughts are all on the man that’s in the house, until-

_ Hey, Princess. _ And she hears his lingering sadness at losing a friend, but that’s alright. He has Lance now and they’ll move through that sorrow together. _ I’m sure Lance told you about,  _ and he starts to fiddle with the ring on his finger with his thumb, suddenly shy.

_ But I wanted to say... _

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

Closes his eyes.

_ He makes me happy. _

She smiles, fireflies starting to emerge into the dwindling light with her radiance. They dance around the the top of Keith’s head like a crown. She comes to be next to him, puts a hand on his shoulder and rests her head atop the back of her knuckles. She feels as his muscles relax and she starts up a hum, a song Lance had taught her during the quiet moments.

Kosmo comes up to them, sits on Keith’s other side. Keith puts his hand on his head and pets him.

“Do you believe in it, Allura?” The space wolf asks. “Fate?”

Allura quiets, looks into herself. Sees all the realites flowing through her like endless rivers, meeting in the center of her soul and she gives each and every one of them a chance.

_ Yes _ , she tells him.  _ It brought to me my Paladins at a time of great need. It brought to me Lance when I needed him most. And it brought to him Keith, at the end of it all, when his heart was ready. And after all I’ve seen... _

Allura runs her hand down Keith’s back and she hears him sigh. He nods silently to her and she backs away from him. He makes for the house, his head high and shoulders straight.

_ The universe is so many things, my dear friend. We’re meant to be with who we’re meant to be with.  _ She leans forwards a little and presses a kiss to the top of the wolf’s head.  _ Go be with them. _

“You are the light of the universe, Princess Allura,” and he bows his head deeply, lifting and curling a paw to do so.

They hear a high whistle and they both look to Keith who’s calling him from across the yard. He has a curious look on his face, but they all know that they’ve all seen weirder things. The big animal flashes away and reappears in front of Keith who greets him with a smile. He holds the door open for him to walk through and the hinges squeal, announcing their entrance.

Allura listens to them for a while, waits until the air is chill with the onset of the coming season. She looks around and sees her flowers, her small stone under a strong tree, the warm light spilling from the kitchen window. Knows that everything that happened led to this perfect moment. She wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

When Lance laughs at something Keith has told him, she closes her eyes and pulls that around her shoulders like a comforting shroud and goes.

There’s no bang, there’s no whimper. No fire or ice.

When Allura goes, she just goes.


	33. Bonus Chapter - A Day out of Time

It’s three degrees outside and Lance is pacing back and forth on the thick, carpeted floor. It’s warm in the small room. Someone had brought in heating fan on top of the warm air currently pumping through the vents. He checks his communicator, sees that the chance of snow has upped twenty percent in the past half an hour and he  _ tsks  _ loudly with tongue against his teeth. 

He pockets the small device, fiddles with the cuff of his shirt, sighs, brings his hand up to try and run his fingers through his hair but gets a sharp slap on his wrist from his mother.

_ “ _ Stop fidgeting _ , cariño,”  _ and he knows she’s irritated because she has a deep furrow between her brows.

“I can’t help it,” he says, and he paces back and forth in the small room, the carpet thick and clean and absorbing the sound of his shuffling feet.

She sighs, comes up to him, forces his body to still by standing in front of him. She puts both hands on his cheeks, pushes them together and he’s mortified that she’s touching his face, after he spent a week keeping it perfect.

“Mama, my skin-”

“Nevermind your vanity. Hush, now,” and she squishes his face one last time before moving her hands to the sides of his head, holds him steady.  _ “ _ _ Él te ama, mijo,” _ she tells him.  _ “Y tú, él.”  _ And Lance’s heart squeezes in his chest.

He lifts his arms and encircles her wrists, small and delicate and he can feel her pulse steady and warm under her skin .  _ “Y eso es todo lo que importa,”  _ she says. He closes his eyes and breaths in the soft scent of her, tuberose and jasmine, powder from her makeup. 

“Now say, ‘You’re right, Mama,’,” she says teasingly.

_ He loves you, son. And you, him. And that’s all that matters. _

“You’re right, Mama,” and he wants to cry. “You’re always right,” and he wraps his arms around her body, the weight of her comforting against his.

 

*

“You ready?” And Hunk is there, fussing at the collar of Lance’s jacket. 

“Born ready,” and he fiddles with the cufflinks on his shirt. What even are cufflinks? He spent like sixty dollars on these things. All it is is a fancy button and its holding his cuff. A plain pearl button could have done the same job and it’s built into the shirt. Whoever thought cufflinks were necessary for a tuxedo-

“Stop fidgeting,” and Hunk slaps his wrist to get him to quit.

Lance pulls at the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen the bow tie around his neck. “I can’t help it,” he says. “It’s like a thousand degrees in here,” and he hopes to Alfor that he’s not sweating and ruining his make up.

“Lance, it’s the middle of winter. It’s almost zero outside,” Pidge pipes up and runs a roller down the back of his pants. “It’s supposed to snow,” she says as she stands, thumps him on the back, hard, mind you.

They fuss over him quietly, until.

“You know, you guys can just,” and Pidge makes a whatever gesture with her hand, “Go.” She says quietly.

And Hunk nods, actually agreeing. He’s affixing the boutineer so that the stem lays flat against Lance’s chest. “Yeah, she’s right. None of this matters. We know you guys love each other.”

“I mean, we'll just have a party without you,” Pidge says quietly. “Eat all of that great catering that you spent a ton of money on,” she jokes, her mouth cocked up in half a smile.

Lance makes a face at her. “Ugh, no,” and he sighs. “I spent sixty effing dollars on some fancy effing cuff buttons. We’re effing doing this,” he says and tugs on the bottom of his vest to get it snug on his shoulders.

Pidge hums. “Black, you should have worn black. White is for the pure, you know,” she jokes, fixes his tie. He swats at her and she cackles.

 

*

Lance is pacing again on that thick rug in the vestibule when the door opens bearing Shiro, looking sharp in a charcoal waistcoat and matching slacks. He gives Lance a smile and this is absolute last thing Lance needs. 

That smile hides the true terror of Shiro. He’s going to come up to Lance and tell him not to do this. To stay away from his little brother. That he’ll break Lance’s kneecaps and ship his body off to Timbuktu and oh god why did Lance think that he could win over the Champion’s brother and his childhood hero- he must have hit his head in Red one too many times and, and-

“Lance, calm down,” he laughs, “I’m not here to hurt you,” and he wipes tears from his laughing eyes. “Just checking on things.” And Lance lets out the breath he’d been holding. He chuckles nervously, touches at his tie, those stupid cufflinks, the hem of his jacket.

“Just, you know, pre-show jitters,” he says, brings out his communicator and flips it open, closes it.

“Stop fidgeting,” Shiro tells him.

Lance laughs. “As everyone’s been saying today,” and he sighs. There’s a ping from the device in his hand and he opens it again. A text from Hunk  _ Keith’s ready _ . Then, three ellipses a the bottom of his chat, the shh, don’t tell emoji, another set of ellipses and then a picture.

Keith, standing at the window looking out. The white suit he’s wearing shows off the breadth of his shoulders and the cut trim of his waist. His hair is done up and there’re flowers amongst the dark strands that he’d seen Nadia running around with earlier.

Lance’s eyes devours the sight of the sacred, secret skin at the back of Keith’s neck where he’s put countless of kisses, the little hairs there soft and smelling so good and different from the rest of him. He feels his eyes heat, and he quickly turns his screen off.

“You look exactly like how Curtis did,” Shiro says with a chuckle. “When I saw the pictures after. That ‘I’m freaking out’ look,” and he reaches out, clasps Lance’s shoulder.

“It’ll all be fine,” he tells Lance. “You have each other, and that’s all that matters.” Shiro opens his arms and Lance huffs out a wet chuckle, steps in between (and maybe if Lance’s twelve year old heart gives a small flutter, no one knows but him). Shiro brings his arms around Lance in a hug, squeezes, squeezes a little harder, harder still, and Lance is in danger of his ribs caving.

  
“If you do, after today, that is, hurt him,” he starts, “I  _ will _ break your kneecaps. But Lance,” he says, and Lance’s short life flashes before his eyes, “No one would ever find the body.” And he lets go with a grin.

 

*

Lance waits in another small room filled with flowers, his heart pounding in his chest. He waits for the song to herald their entrance, shifting from foot to foot. The woman helping with the proceedings smiles at him, tells him to stop fidgeting and he sheepishly rubs the back of his heated neck. 

He hears the murmur of his family and friends, close dignitaries, old colleagues. His entire life on the other side of the simple, white curtain.

The piano starts and he hears people shuffle to stand and here it is, here we go. The woman beams at him, her cheeks flush and her eyes shining. She inclines her head and twitches her eyebrows. Lance takes a deep breath and nods.

The curtain parts and Lance’s eyes zero in to the door opposite where the curtain also splits down the middle and pulls separate.

Lance clenches his teeth to keep his lips from trembling, to keep himself from sighing out because, there, across the way, stands Keith. He blinks rapidly to keep the tears in his eyes as he looks at him, his white suit and bowtie, the lush peony pinned to his lapel the only splash of color on him save for the bright red flush on his cheeks.

When Keith sees Lance, his face curls into a smile. Starts walking towards him. He hears the whispered, urgent  _ Go!  _ of the woman and he chuckles, nods at her again, and steps out.

He makes his way towards Keith to meet in the middle of the temple and he picks up his stride two steps in, unable to wait, and Keith sees him do it, starts walking faster himself, until they’re running at each other and Lance laughs and Keith laughs and the people around them laugh and Keith gets a hold of him, picks him up and spins him around and Lance gets his fingers lost in Keith’s hair as he leans down and kisses him.

The piano keeps playing and Lance feels his heart swell in his chest.

He gets set down and Keith holds him close, rocks with him a little.

_ You're beautiful. _

_ You, too. Hunk took a picture of you standing at the window and I almost lost it. _

Coran breaks the spell with a gentle clearing of his throat. They blink, look around, smile at their friends and family, everyone that’s here with them on this day and Lance mumbles out an apology, turns to Coran.

Their old friend regards them, nods. Gives him a warm smile.

“You both are so radiant,” he tells them softly. Regards them a moment more, then with a stronger voice, “Come, let’s get you two married.”

And outside, it gently begins to snow.


End file.
